


Water My Garden With Blood

by G_N_Story



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Bondage, Collars, Dom/sub, F/F, F/M, Gay Sex, Heavy BDSM, Japanese Rope Bondage, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Other, Predicament Bondage, Public Sex, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Sex, Sex Toys, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-02-02 06:27:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 80,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12721353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/G_N_Story/pseuds/G_N_Story
Summary: Bucky Barnes is just a recent veteran, finally looking to fulfill his longest fantasy: to be dominated and kept.  He finds exactly what he's looking for in the beautiful, seductive Headmistress of the Avengers Family.  He thinks he has everything he's ever dreamed of when one day, he bumps into one certain big blonde puppy dog of a man named Steve Rogers and falls hard.  What happens when Steve finds out about Bucky's other life?  Will Bucky be forced to choose between the two?OREver since that horrid example of a "BDSM" Twilight fanfic got turned into a book and movie series, I've wanted to write my own BDSM fanfic.  That's right, BDSM written by an active BDSM practitioner.  And not just any BDSM, but kiny sexy wonderful Avengers BDSM.  Enjoy!





	1. Munch

**Author's Note:**

> So, like it says in the description, as someone who is active in the BDSM lifestyle, I had a LOT of problems with 50 Shades of Gray. It was clear that she had no idea what she was talking about when it came to what real BDSM is like. So here is my humble offering of a more accurate super sexy, kinky, and hopefully actually well-written BDSM Avengers fanfic.  
> This is a quick intro chapter to see if anybody is interested. I'm going to be writing more, and hopefully you guys enjoy it and I'll keep writing. Each part of this is going to be truthful to my own real experiences in BDSM, while also being a bit of a fantasy. If you have any questions about what the lifestyle is really like, then please feel free to ask me in the comments and I'll definitely answer. For example, in this chapter, Bucky goes to his first munch. The fantasy comes in when he meets someone who he's interested in and who is interested in him right off the bat, because, story. Everything else is similar to many munches I've personally been to.  
> Anyway, enough technicalities. I really hope you enjoy this, because I know I'm going to enjoy writing it!

Bucky sits in his darkened car, watching the bar across the street.  He can’t combat the butterflies in his stomach, and he’s afraid that they’re going to make him sick.  He watches as people come and go.  The people going inside seem to be dressed in “normal” Friday night bar clothes.  Nobody in gimp masks or full latex yet.  The cold air is making the windows of the bar foggy, so he can’t really see inside but for when the door swings open and shut.  He doesn’t know why he’s nervous.  He’s jumped out of planes, killed people from 800m away, scaled buildings with nothing but a nylon rope.  Next to those things, walking into this bar is small fries.

But he’s still frozen.  A voice in his head tells him that he could just start his car and drive away, nobody would ever know.  But a louder voice tells him not to be such a coward.  Bucky’s been considering this for a while now, and it’s taken months to build up the courage to just show up to this, he can’t back out now.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky throws the door to his car open.  There’s no turning back now.  He pulls up his hood to keep out the cold and hurries across the street. 

The inside of the bar is crowded.  Groups of people stand together chatting, others eat burgers or order drinks.  Bucky suddenly realizes that he has no way to know which group is the one that he’s looking for.  He looks around for indications before realizing that the website had said that people would be in “street clothes.”  Nobody in the bar is carrying a whip and holding a sign that says “Kinky Fucks Meet Here.”  Another wave of nerves rushes through Bucky.  He nearly turns and walks out.  Instead, he stands there looking like an idiot until he realizes how weird he’s being and turns to go to the bar.  He already needs a drink.

As soon as Bucky gets to the bar, he notices someone making a beeline for him from his peripherals.  Bucky turns just in time to meet the wiry, dark-haired man.  The guy wears a big, confident smile, red lens sunglasses, and a leather jacket with a stylized A pin on the front.  In his hand is a whiskey.  And around his neck, Bucky suddenly realizes, is a gold metal collar with a tag.  Bucky swallows hard.

“You new here?” the guy asks with a slightly manic smile.

“Uh,” Bucky says dumbly.  “That obvious?”

“You’re here for the munch, yeah?”

Bucky swallows again and nods.

“Awesome!  I’m Tony!”  The man is bubbly, or manic, Bucky can’t tell.  But he keeps bouncing on his toes.  Meanwhile, Bucky’s eyes keep drifting back to Tony’s collar.  Tony barely takes a breath before turning to look out over the crowd. 

“And that-“ Tony points to a tall man with dark hair and glasses in a rather threadbare looking purple shirt and a matching leather jacket to Tony’s, “sexy ball of anxiety is my Dom.  Brucey!” Tony shouts over the crowd.  The man in glasses turns, wrings his hands, and starts towards Bucky and Tony.  “Don’t worry, he’s a monster in bed.  Wouldn’t even recognize him,” Tony assures with a wink.

Bucky stands, frozen, unsure what to do or say as the man in glasses squeezes through the crowd.

“Lighten up, bud,” Tony says, slapping Bucky on the back amicably.  Bucky shifts, trying to look more natural, as Tony signals the bartender for another drink. 

Bruce finally reaches Tony and Bucky, just as the bartender is sliding Tony another shot.  Tony takes it down in one swift movement before turning with gusto to greet his Dom with a wide, dramatic smile.  Bruce gives Tony a look that Bucky doesn’t try to dissect before turning to look at Bucky with a weary but friendly expression. 

“Bruce,” the man says, extending his hand.  Bucky takes it.

“Uhm…James,” he stutters like an idiot.

Bruce reaches into the pocket on his shirt and pulls out what looks like a business card.  He hands it to Bucky.

“That’s us,” he says as a way of explanation.

Bucky looks down at it.  It’s a matte card, with what looks like a brown leather design in the background.  On the front it says, “TheBigGreen,” on one line, and, “ManofIron,” on the next.

Bucky furrows his brow and glances up at Bruce with a question in his eyes.

“Fetlife,” Tony says, in another incomprehensible explanation.  Luckily, when Bucky shoots him a nervous look, Tony begins to laugh.  “You got fetlife?” Tony asks.

“I don’t…”

Tony holds out his hand.  Bucky glances at it in confusion.

“Phone,” Tony insists. 

Unsure, Bucky pulls his phone from his pocket, unlocks the screen, and puts it in Tony’s hand.  Tony makes quick work of whatever he’s doing, and hands the phone back.  Bucky looks down at the screen to see a webpage pulled up asking for his login information.  Tony taps the upper corner of the page.

“Fetlife,” Tony says with another wink.  “Everything you’ll ever need in the world of kink.”

“It’s like facebook for kinky people,” Bruce explains.

“So make an account,” Tony adds.  “And add us.  That’s our usernames.”  Tony points to the card still in Bucky’s hand.

“Oh…alright,” Bucky says, feeling himself start to sweat.

“You’re nervous!” Tony observes before throwing an arm over Bucky’s shoulders.  “Don’t be.”  Tony turns to his Dom.  “James here is a newbie.”

“I gathered,” Bruce says.  “Top or bottom?”

Bucky laughs, and it comes out withered and anxious.  “Uhm…I don’t know,” Bucky adds.

“So you’re _new_ new,” Bruce gathers.

Bucky shrugs weakly, unsure what he means.  “I guess.”

“Well that’s alright.  No better place to start than here,” Tony says with a grin, tightening the arm around Bucky’s shoulders.  “What kind of stuff are you interested in.”

Luckily, Bruce notices Bucky’s unease and waves a hand at Tony that makes the man release Bucky.  Instead, Tony motions over another pair of people and begins to introduce Bucky.

Thirty minutes later, Bucky is feeling pulled thin.  Tony has introduced him to at least fifteen people, some of whom also give Bucky a card, but none of whose names Bucky can recall.  He wasn’t sure what he was expecting from the munch, but it wasn’t this.  The bar is crowded and, luckily, Bucky isn’t the only newbie in attendance.  Eventually, Tony darts off to introduce himself to a pair of equally nervous looking people who wander into the bar, leaving Bucky with Bruce.

“He can be a lot,” Bruce muses with a small smile as he watches Tony maneuver through the crowded bar.

Bucky laughs nervously, unsure if Bruce was addressing him or not.  But Bruce turns and puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Let’s go meet the Headmistress and then the tour can be over, promise,” Bruce says, leading Bucky towards the back of the bar.

“The Headmistress, that sounds…intimidating,” Bucky attempts at a joke, but it just comes out sounding watery. 

Luckily, Bruce finds it funny, and he laughs a bit and nods as they finally break free from the crowd.

“She certainly thinks so,” Bruce replies as Bucky catches a glimpse at the table along the back wall.  “Guess that’s up to you to decide.”

There aren’t many people seated at the table, but all of them wear the same leather jacket, with a stylized A on the breast, as Tony and Bruce.  All of them except the woman at the head of the table.  Instead, she is dressed in a skin tight, black lace dress.  Her bright red hair is a perfectly straight bob, not a strand out of place.  She sits there like she owns the place, like the Don in a Mafia movie, slightly reclined with one perfectly manicured hand on a glass and one elbow hooked around the back of her seat.  She has to be the Headmistress that Bruce had spoken of, because suddenly the name makes perfect sense. 

“Alright, James,” Bruce says, coming to a stop at the opposite end of the table of the redhead.  “Meet the rest of the family.”  The redhead is looking up at Bucky with mild interest and Bucky has to tear his eyes away in order to concentrate on what Bruce is saying.  “We’ve got Hawkeye, Rhodey, Scarlet, Scott, Storm, Panther, Cage and Alias.  And of course, our Head Mistress, Black Widow.”

“And who is this walking embodiment of sex appeal?” the one named Alias pipes up, putting down her half empty glass of beer, her brown eyes roving Bucky hungrily.

“This is James, everyone,” Bruce announces.

“First time, James?” Alias asks, putting her chin in her hand as she leans across the table towards him.

Bucky digs his hands into his pockets.

“That obvious?” he laughs, trying hard to control his body language.  He knows he must look fucking terrified, and that’s only making him feel worse. 

Alias just laughs and leans back in her chair, one biker boot on the edge of the table.

“I’m calling dibs on you,” Alias says darkly, pointing at Bucky.  “Because I know that you’re exactly the Widow’s type.”  Alias shoots a conspiratorial grin at the Headmistress. 

“Don’t be like that,” the man named Cage growls at Alias.  “Can’t you tell he’s nervous?  Leave the poor guy alone.”

“Why don’t you come sit over here, James,” the Headmistress says suddenly, and her very voice is a revelation.  Dark and syrupy and hypnotic.  She nods to the chair next to her which is currently occupied by a sandy haired man dressed in purple.  Obediently, the man gets to his feet and moves down the table.

“See, told’ya,” Alias announces to the table before winking at Bucky.

Stiffly, Bucky moves towards the recently vacated seat.  The Black Widow’s eyes follow him as he moves, making him feel uncomfortably exposed.  In fact, everyone at the table watches him as he sits down awkwardly and tries not to make eye contact.  Black Widow doesn’t take her eyes off of Bucky as she lifts her glass in a sort of silent command.  The sandy haired man gets to his feet and moves back across the table, taking her empty glass from her.

“Do you want anything, James?” she asks.

“A beer?” Bucky replies unsteadily.  “Anything dark is fine.”

Finally, the Black Widow takes her eyes off of Bucky in order to look up at the other man, nodding at him with a rare and dazzling smile as he turns and makes his way through the crowd.  The rest of the table finally tears their eyes away from Bucky and start into small group conversations amongst themselves.  Bruce waves and retreats, mumbling about “welcome wagon duty,” presumably going to find Tony.  The Black Widow’s eyes settle back onto Bucky and there is an uncomfortably long silence as Bucky concentrates on the grain in the table.

“First time, hmm?” the Black Widow finally asks.

Bucky chances a glance up.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Overwhelming?” she presses.

Bucky shrugs.  “A little bit, yeah.”

“You have any questions?”

Bucky attempts a laugh, but it sound wry.

“Don’t know what you don’t know?” the Black Widow surmises with a sly smile.  Bucky can’t tell if she’s getting enjoyment from making him squirm.  Her fingers begin to drum on the table.  She’s waiting for Bucky to reply.

“Yeah, that’s it…I think,” Bucky tries.  He’s regretting coming here.  He’s wishing he could run.

“So then,” Black Widow says with a lavish wave of her blood red fingernails, “tell me about the porno that finally brought you here, in _vivid_ detail.”

“Don’t let her get to you,” Cage pipes up from nearby, giving Bucky a reassuring smile.  “She’s just a cat with a new mouse to torment.”

Black Widow straightens and shoots Cage a glance.  It looks dark at first, like actual anger, but then she smiles, once again absolutely dazzling Bucky, and Cage laughs, rolling his eyes. 

“You can leave anytime you want,” Black Widow offers.  Her green eyes finally meet Bucky’s, and they are _piercing._   Bucky is frozen.  He’s a mouse, and she is the cat, just like Cage had said.  That should terrify Bucky, make him uncomfortable, but...it doesn't.  As her green eyes bore into Bucky's own, he feels trapped but not in a bad way.  Without a word, she communicates something to Bucky.  Possession, dominance, unquestioned authority.  It makes Bucky feel warm inside.  She pauses for so long that Bucky is mesmerized when her red lips part again.  “I’d be awfully sad if you did though.  You...intrigue me.”

“I don’t want to leave.”  The words escape Bucky’s lips before he realizes he’s even speaking.  There’s something about Black Widow’s voice, the timber, the tone, the way she constantly sounds like she knows a private joke.  Bucky feels so warm, but in a good way, and the thoughts of escape he had just had moments ago have quickly evaporated.  This woman is beautiful and enthralling, something out of a fantasy, and she just said that she finds Bucky intriguing.  Bucky is glued to his seat by the sudden overwhelming desire to make this woman like him. 

Black Widow holds Bucky’s gaze for a long moment, broken only when the sandy-haired man returns with a martini and a beer.  When the man turns to leave, Black Widow grabs his wrist lightly.  He looks back at her and she breaks Bucky’s gaze to glance up at the man.  She smiles at the man in purple again and runs her fingers across his palm.  It’s an incredibly intimate moment.  Bucky suddenly feels embarrassed, not just for witnessing this, but for thinking just a few seconds ago that Black Widow might actually _like_ him.  She clearly already has a relationship with this man.  Black Widow drops her hand and the man leaves.

“So, James, tell me everything about yourself,” Black Widow says in a bored tone, leaning back in her chair and taking a sip of her fresh drink.

Bucky looks down the table where the man in purple is sitting down.  Flustered once again, Bucky reaches for his beer and takes a drink.

“What do you want to know?” Bucky asks, ducking his gaze.

“You really don’t like talking about yourself, do you?” Black Widow guesses with an arched brow.

“Yeah, well, he’s got a pretty face, so it doesn’t really matter if he talks,” Alias calls from a few seats away, raising her glass in a mock toast.  She laughs at the face Bucky makes.  "What?" Alias asks.  "Didn't your mother ever warn you about girls like us?"

Bucky tries to laugh.

"She might have said something like that," Bucky replies.

Bucky glances over at Alias and when he looks back at Black Widow, the redhead is leaned forward again, studying him.  Bucky freezes, barely daring a glance upwards.  Black Widow sighs carefully and straightens.

“I don’t mean to pressure you,” Black Widow huffs.

From nearby, somebody calls “Headmistress,” and Black Widow turns.  Without a glance backwards, she gets to her feet and stalks away.  Bucky watches her go, unsure what to do as he watches her smile wide and hug a large man with an eyepatch. 

“Short attention span, that one,” Panther says in a heavy accent.  “So James, how long have you been in the area?”

Bucky gets pulled into a group conversation around the table.  He's reluctant at first to join in.  Somehow, Bucky feels rejected, like he was weighed, measured and found wanting by the Headmistress.  But the people at the table are friendly and lively and Bucky can't help but be sucked in.  He talks a bit about himself, vague details, easy answers.  Mostly he listens.  And watches, for Black Widow to return.  He drinks his beer as the group talks about a wide variety of topics.  Sometimes they talk about kinky stuff, but mostly it’s funny anecdotes, or heated discussion about something mundane, like 90’s music.  Cage in particular has some inexplicable opinions on boy bands.  Bucky downs his beer and the woman known as Storm brings him another.  Slowly, he feels himself growing at ease.  He’s feeling silly for his earlier fears.  This is nothing.  It’s just a conversation in a bar with people who are entirely open about every aspect of their lives.  After an hour, Bucky is comfortable enough to start asking questions of his own. 

Eventually, Tony and Bruce return.  The bars already emptying and Bucky is feeling suddenly a little sad.  The munch is only two hours, and Bucky had wasted almost 45 minutes of that in his car, psyching himself out.  The group in leather jackets seems to be staying to the end though.

“So, what’s with the jackets?” Bucky finally asks.

“Oh!” Tony cries, choking on his drink in his hurry to lean forward and answer the question.  “I didn’t tell you?  We’re a family.  Leather, rope, whatever.  The Avengers.”

Bucky can’t help but laugh at the name.

“The what?”

“Avengers,” Tony repeats immediately.

Bucky nods.

“Cool, what are you Avenging?” he asks.

Tony leans in impossibly closer.

“Hopefully my ass, later tonight,” Tony says with a wink before glancing up at Bruce.

Bucky cracks up laughing.

Eventually, only the “Avengers” are left in the bar.  One by one, they get to their feet and begin to wander out.  Bucky sighs sadly, says goodbye to his new acquaintances, and finishes his beer.  Black widow never returns, and Bucky knows that he's missed his chance.  He finally takes his cue to leave, tightening his coat and pulling on his gloves.  He says goodbye and thank you to Bruce and Tony, assures them that he’ll make a fetlife profile tonight and friend them, and shoves out into the cool night air.

“James!” an unfamiliar voice calls as Bucky hurries to his car.

Bucky turns to find the sandy-haired man waving at him.  Uncertain, Bucky stops and lets the man catch up to him.

“Here,” the man says, shivering as he hands Bucky a card.

“Oh, uh, thanks, man,” Bucky mumbles, pocketing the card without looking at it.  “I’m making a fetlife tonight and friending everybody, so I’ll check you out.”

The man shakes his head.

“No, that’s from the Headmistress.  She asked me to give it to you.”

Bucky can’t help but start, yanking the card from his pocket.  As he looks down at it in the dim light, the sandy-haired man smirks.  There’s something knowing in his eyes that flashes and then is gone.  He turns away and hurries back towards the warmth of the bar.

The card in Bucky’s hand is shimmery black.  The outline of a redheaded woman stands in dark light on one side, on the other is slanted text.  Bucky flips the card over.

 _I’m not the woman your mother warned you about, her imagination was never this good._  


	2. Rabbit Hole

Bucky does make a fetlife the next morning.  He muses for far too long over a name.  Mostly dumb puns come to mind, but none of them seem right.  Everyone he had met last night had a _name_.  Not just an internet handle, but a name that they went by.  Black Widow, Alias, Scarlet, Panther, Storm.  Even Tony and Bruce have good names.  Then it finally comes to Bucky.  He already has a name, one given to him by his teammates so many years ago.  He types it in and hits enter before he can change his mind. 

Winter_Soldier

Bucky flips through all of the cards he had received throughout the night, looking up the people, sending them a quick message to say hello, and requesting their friendship.  He swallows hard and saves Black Widow’s card for last, putting it aside.

Nervously, Bucky finds a few pictures of himself on his computer and phone.  He crops out his head and face, and makes sure that in each picture, his right side is hidden or covered.  Writing a bio is even harder.  Bucky writes and rewrites over and over, finally settling on, “Hey there, I’m new here.  Just getting my bearings.  Send me a hello!”  It’s short and it’s weak, nothing like the paragraphs upon paragraphs that all the Avengers seem to have. 

Finally, Bucky grabs Black Widow’s card.  On the front, the text is pre-printed: a fetlife name, an email address, a kik handle.  More information than on the other cards Bucky had received.  The words on the back, though, are hand-written in dark red ink.  Bucky runs his fingers across the indentations.  After an extended moment of unfound nervousness, Bucky types The_Black_Widow in the search bar.

Black Widow’s profile picture nearly knocks Bucky out of his seat.  It’s a full body picture, and Black Widow’s body is wrapped in shiny latex.  She wears knee high, red latex boots and a black latex cat suit.  Her lips and eyes are painted dark black and her red hair is stick straight.  She cradles a black leather crop against her cheek and stares menacingly down at the camera.  It’s a professional picture with a pure white background.  Lights reflect off the flawless expanses of black and red latex.  Bucky is fucking mesmerized and _incredibly_ turned on.  It’s difficult to tear his eyes away.

Bucky begins at the top of the page, reading every single word.

_Relationship status: Polyamorous_

_In an open relationship with that_hawk_guy_

_In an open relationship with ManofIron_

_In an open relationship with AKA_Alias_

_In a pack with TheBigGreen_

_In a pack with BlackPanther_

_In a pack with LadyStorm_

_In a pack with CagedFury_

_In a pack with antman_

_In a pack with MasterFalcon_

_In a pack with the_Scarlet_Bitch_

_In a pack with atyourservice_

_In a pack with WarMachine_

_In a pack with Mz.Marvel_

_D/s relationship status:_

_Training atyourservice_

_Mistress and Owner of that_hawk_guy._

_Orientation: Pansexual_

_Active: I Live it 24/7_

_Is looking for: a play partner, a sub, a slave, events_

The first paragraph under bio is written in Russian.  Fortunately, Bucky’s parents lived in Soviet Romania, and taught him Russian from a young age.  It’s parts of a Russian poem, one Bucky has heard before.

_Now the flames are soaring over_

_Him that has been crucified._

_Nights drift by across the heavens,_

_Past all caring, snowy - eyed._

_Let you look into my eyes,_

_Gave you wings that you might fly._

_Burn, then, radiant and shining,_

_And with light and gentle hand_

_I shall scatter your light ashes_

_All across this snowy land._

  * _Alexander Blok_



Bucky feels a chill run down his back.  He knows the poem all too well.  He had done a project on it in high school and it’s stuck with him ever since.  He can’t believe that of all places, he’s reading it here.  He reads the rest of Black Widow’s profile, each and every word.  It’s long, and most parts Bucky only has a vague understanding of what she’s talking about.  Cuckolding, sessions, breath play, sounding, enemas.  Bucky can feel his face growing warm.  When he gets to the end, he scrolls back up and clicks on the picture.  This brings him to a page of filled with pictures, well over a hundred, each just as breath taking as the last.  Some are professional pictures of Black Widow, others are various pictures of men and women wrapped in rope and hanging bodily from the ceiling, and even more are of different close up bits of reddened and bruised skin. 

Bucky clicks on one of the rope bondage pictures.  It’s of the sandy haired man from last night, that_hawk_guy, Bucky thinks he remembers Bruce calling him Hawkeye.  Most of his weight hangs from his waist.  He is facing the floor, bent over, with his arms tied so tightly behind him that his hands are purple.  His legs are askew, his head hangs downward, and his face is the picture of calm, eyes closed lightly and a small smile.  In the next picture, Hawkeye’s arms are spread wide and tied to a long piece of shining bamboo.  His legs are bent back at what looks like a painful angle, feet tied at the end of the bamboo.  He hangs forward and the picture is taken from the side.  His eyes are locked with Black Widow’s, who stand in front of him, one hand on his cheek, the other holding more rope in loose fingers.  Bucky swallows hard, he can feel his cock taking interest.  He’s imagining himself in Hawkeye’s place, and the very thought is intoxicating.  Jealousy courses through him, jealousy of Hawkeye.  Bucky presses hard against his growing cock and clicks to the next picture.

Bucky almost jumps when he sees Tony’s face in the next picture.  The man is on his knees, drenched in sweat, and covered in bruises that bloom brilliant blue and purple across his chest.  He looks slightly dazed, a bit exhausted, and entirely turned on.  His hair is a mess and his mouth is open as he stares up at the camera with wide, blown eyes.  Bucky reads the caption.

_Helping @TheBigGreen train this little brat._

Again, jealousy and desire burn through Bucky’s entire body and he quickly clicks the back button.  His heart rate is raising and his erection is growing insistent.  Somehow, Bucky would feel wrong masturbating to Black Widow’s pictures without her permission.  So he clicks the “Message Kinkster” button.

Coming up with something to say is way harder than it should be.  At first, Bucky types in a long message, thanking Black Widow for the introduction, asking forgiveness for having such a barren profile, over explaining his past to make up for his thick tongue the night before.  But he deletes that all, re-writes it, deletes it again, and finally settles once more on something short.

_Hello there, Black Widow._

_It was great meeting you last night.  Sorry if I seemed quiet, I was just really nervous.  I’m hoping to learn more about the lifestyle and attend more events.  Any suggestions?_

Bucky hesitates for far too long before hitting send.  He sits at his computer, checking emails and Facebook, browsing Reddit, constantly checking back on fetlife.  He doesn’t know what he’s expecting.  It’s not like she would respond immediately, even if she responds at all.  So eventually, Bucky has to force himself to turn off his computer and stand up.  He’s filled with pent up energy suddenly.  After pacing his house for a few minutes, he finally decides to go on a run.  He changes, grabs his headphones, and heads out the front door.

It’s freezing outside, but Bucky likes the cold.  It burns in his lungs as he runs.  He pushes himself harder than he has in a while.  His mind hovers indecisively between a handful of subjects for the entire six miles.  He knows the route by heart, and when he finally comes back to his house, he’s almost disappointed.  There’s nothing stopping him from storming inside and immediately turning on his computer once again.  Fetlife loads and he has three new messages.

The first two are from Tony and Alias.  The third is from Black Widow.  Bucky’s heart jumps into his throat as he clicks on it.

_Well well Winter Soldier.  Welcome to the rabbit hole.  As far as events go, you can find some under the events tab.  The Avengers are having a play party at our place tonight, and I suppose I can count you as vetted.  Put yourself as going, hawkeye is sending out details this evening.  Stop by, maybe you’ll have looser lips this time.  It’d be intriguing to get to know you better._

 

***

 

“Okay, I’m doing this.  Oh, God, am I really doing this?...Yes.  I’m fucking doing this.  Come on.”

Bucky’s pep talk is weak.  He stares at himself in the rearview mirror, adjusting his hair once again, tightening and loosening his ponytail.  For what must be the twentieth time, Bucky checks his pockets for his wallet.  It’s in the same place it was last time.  Bucky can’t keep sitting here in his car.  Someone is bound to see him.  Every minute, more cars arrive.  Unlike the bar, people going into the massive manor nearby are dressed to the fucking nines.  Long evening gowns, full leather outfits, fishnets, high heels, latex, masks.  That in itself is freaking Bucky out more than anything.  He’s severely under dressed in jeans and a canvas jacket. 

Bucky’s phone dings.  It’s a kik message from Tony.  He’s been messaging Bucky for the past eight hours. 

_I can see you sitting out there like a perv and I thought that all the perverts were in here ;)_

Shit.  Bucky has to go in now.  Checking for his wallet once again, Bucky pulls the keys out the ignition and shoves them into his pocket as well before throwing open his door and climbing out of his car.  He barely breathes as he approaches the mansion.  The closer he goes, the more he can hear the music.  It’s dark and heavy, something with a low base line that shakes the windows.  He inspects the house nervously.  Every shade has been drawn with heavy curtains.  The only light comes from an external flood light.  The manor itself is a gorgeous house, massive in size, and beautifully architectured.  Another couple come striding through the dark towards the door from their car.  The man in front is enormous, taller and wider than Bucky, thick with muscles, with a perfect blonde ponytail and chiseled features.  And he wears a maroon suit.  Bucky paws nervously at his jacket again.  He’s definitely underdressed.   

The couple reach the door before Bucky.  The woman doesn’t spare Bucky a glance, but the man looks back at him and holds the door open.  Bucky wants to tell them to go in first, but his tongue is feeling heavy again, so he can only flail nonsensically and step inside.

The room inside is small.  It seems to have been added in, not a natural part of the house.  The first thing Bucky sees is Tony.  The man wears a leather harness, a revealing thong, fishnets, a pair of six inch heels, and a full face of makeup.  Bucky almost chokes as Tony throws up his arms and greets Bucky and the couple.

“James!” Tony cries.  “Finally.”  He turns to the couple.  “Thor, why do you insist on wearing suits like that when I’m here, you’re already prefect, man.  Sif, how’s it going?”  Tony looks back at Bucky and jabs a thumb towards the woman.  “Warrior princess if you’ll ever meet one.”  Bucky has absolutely no idea what he means.

Tony ushers Bucky through some paperwork, jabbering the entire time.  He waves Thor and Sif inside as Bucky signs his name a dozen times.  

“Hope you’re ready for a quick tour,” Tony says, snatching the papers away the moment Bucky has signed them.

No, a tour is the last thing that Bucky wants.  Being shown around, an obvious newbie, standing out and looking awkward.  That’s the absolute last thing Bucky wants, he’d much rather slip inside and stay in the shadows, pretending not to be freaked out.  But Tony is already off, leading Bucky through a red door.

The next room is _massive_.  The light are low, many of them with red bulbs.  The loud, low music is almost deafening within, but not loud enough to drown out the sound of slapping flesh and the screams of pain or of ecstasy, Bucky can’t tell.  Tony leads Bucky inside, past a grand staircase, and through the enormous room.  The ceiling is high, and the second story opens up in a mezzanine above.  A long, marble topped dining room table runs along the wall, filled with people.  Around the room are pieces of furniture, and on each piece, a different person is tied or chained down. 

“This is the main room,” Tony explains with a wave of his hand.  “We got a few piece of furniture up here.”

Tony continues walking and Bucky has to tear his eyes away from where a man is swinging a menacing looking whip against a woman’s back.  The woman arches and moans.  Bucky shoves his right hand into the pocket of his jacket and follows Tony.  Tony shows Bucky the bathroom next, a gorgeous, gold accented, full bathroom. 

“Doms get priority on main bathroom,” Tony says with a shrug, turning quickly to lead Bucky down a short hall.  It opens into a kitchen, with a marble island filled with finger food.  “People bring stuff to share,” Tony explains with another wave of his hand.  “No exposed genitals in here, of course,” Tony adds with a wink.

Next, they loop around through a library full of people smoking cigars and submissives holding silver trays to a bar, where a woman, naked but for a thong and some pasties, is preparing drinks.  They walk through a living room set with plush piece of furniture, dimly lit by a fireplace at the end of the room.  There’s only five people in here.  Two sit and quietly drink glasses of wine while a naked man sits at their feet.  One girl is wrapped in a blanket, her back being rubbed as she sits silently in front of the fireplace.   

“Quiet room,” Tony explains in a breath.

They come back out into the enormous main room and turn to move up the stairs.  Tony shows him another bathroom, this one even larger, with a Jacuzzi tub in which a couple is voraciously fucking.  Bucky blushes and looks away.  They move onto a series of bedrooms.  The first is draped with multi-colored curtains on every surface.  Glass lanterns hang down, flickering with candle flame. Behind thin curtains, couples fuck on brightly colored beds.  The next room is large, with the entire wall lined with black leather bedding.  The lights are so low, all Bucky can see are moving shapes in the dark.  But he can hear pretty clearly what’s going on.

“Orgy room,” Tony says.  “Lots of fun playing hide the cucumber in here.”

Tony laughs at his own joke, and a man nearby calls Tony’s name.  Tony waves him off and pulls Bucky through to the next room.  This one is bright red, with a rotating bed, mirrors on every surface, a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and plush red carpeting.  Everything smells like cedar and roses.  What Bucky recognizes as a St. Andrew’s cross sits in one corner, a cage in the other, and a red leather bench sits at the foot of the bed.  Nobody is in this room though.

“This is the Headmistress’s Red Room, invitation only,” Tony says with a nod before glancing at Bucky.  “Some _very interesting_ nights in here, if you know what I mean.”  Bucky doesn’t.

Next, they descend a back stair way which leads to the lowest level.  The basement is enormous, all open space, and absolutely filled with diabolical looking devices, leather covered bondage furniture, chains and ropes hanging from the ceiling, and spiked bits of flooring. 

“Welcome to the Dungeon,” Tony announces with a flourish.

The Dungeon is packed.  People cover almost every surface, and Bucky is getting a close up look at exactly what every single piece of furniture does.  A woman dressed as a cat kneels on the spiked floor, staring willfully up at a different woman dressed in latex.  A man hangs upside down from the ceiling while a woman strokes his cock.  A skinny blonde man rattles desperately at his chains from where he is attached to the ceiling as Alias and Cage trade off swinging a wicked looking whip at his back.  The man named Rhodey is locked inside a cage, head tilted back, licking the pussy of a woman with short blonde hair who sits on top.  A man in a dog mask chases after a ball.  A woman spins artistically on a large silver ring.  A woman with a strap-on grabs the hair of the man she is fucking against an A frame. 

Tony grabs Bucky hard, drawing his attention. 

“Hey, newbie,” Tony says, jostling Bucky slightly, “you look fucking terrified.  Don’t freak out.”

Bucky tries to find his voice but can’t.  He just nods numbly.  He can’t even name what he is feeling right now.  It’s somewhere between terror and delight, he just can’t decide where. 

“How about a drink?  Huh?” Tony suggests.  “Take the edge off.”

“That’d be good,” Bucky finally manages. 

Tony half drags Bucky up the stairs and to the bar.  Bucky knows he must look like an absolutely fucking idiot.  People look at him as he passes, they must see what a little bitch he’s being.  Bucky digs his fingernails into his palms. 

Tony half asks if whiskey is okay before ordering two whiskey sours.  The nearly naked woman behind the bar give Bucky a smile as she mixes the drinks.  Bucky gulps half of his down in one go before Tony grabs the front of his jacket hard.

“Can I be frank with you?” Tony asks with a cocked brow.

Bucky shrugs in response, unsure what Tony is about to say.

“I know Black Widow gave you a card, invited you here.  That’s rare.  Don’t waste that opportunity.  Trust me, every guy on earth is drooling to be licking her boots.  But she doesn’t let them.  She likes you, and you probably like her.  How could you not?  So don’t go at this night like you’re in this for yourself.  Because then, you’re gonna have a bad time.  Offer your service to her right now.  It’ll go a long way.”

Bucky balks.

“I don’t even know what that means,” he says quietly. 

“It’s nothing crazy, man,” Tony replies lightly, taking a sip of his drink before looking at Bucky seriously.  “Just go up to her, wait for her to acknowledge you, and say, ‘Headmistress, may I serve you tonight?’  That simple.”

Bucky wants to laugh at the absurdity of it.  Simple, is Tony fucking kidding?  A part of Bucky…a _huge_ part of Bucky wants that.  He wants to do that.  Deep down, that’s why he’s here, that’s why he was at the munch last night.  It’s not right, it’s not natural, Bucky should be stronger, he should be better.  These are the things that Bucky has told himself over and over and over for his entire adult life.  He had every excuse on the planet to avoid following his fantasies; the Army, his pride, the fear of his friends finding out, that voice that tells him that it will make him less of a man.  Bucky’s watched BDSM porn since he was a kid.  He’s lied to himself, even back then.  He told himself that he was watching because he wanted to be in the dominant’s place.  But that was never true.  Deep down, he knew he wanted to be the submissive, the one being used for a purpose, the one being controlled and directed, the one letting go. 

All that Bucky has ever desired in his life is somebody to take that entire _burden_ off of his shoulders.  Every year that passes, the weight grows heavier and harder to hold.  At first, it was his parent’s death.  Then it was the responsibility of raising his sisters.  Then it was the Army and everything he had seen, done, witnessed.  Then it was his injuries, both physical and mental.  He wants silence.  The quiet of mind that comes from giving up control to somebody else.  He wants an escape from the crushing weight that drives him into the ground. 

Bucky’s tired of relationships in which he’s expected to lead, to carry, to be the support.  He’s tired of always having to seem strong and emotionless.  He’s so fucking tired of pretending to be something he’s not, of lying to everyone else, of lying to himself.  He just wants someone to take that weight off of his shoulders for one second and to tell him that it’s all okay.  He wants to give himself over to someone else because he’s so tired of having to _be_.  He just wants to be able to turn his brain off and simply be commended for following orders.  That’s how he got through the Army.  And that’s all he wants in his life now.  An escape, no matter how brief.     

“Well, I’ve got to get back to the door,” Tony says, shaking Bucky out of his thoughts.  Tony finishes his drink and slaps Bucky on the shoulder.  It’s his right shoulder.  Bucky winces, waiting for Tony to comment on the way his shoulder feels.  But Tony doesn’t seem to notice, he’s already turning away.  “Bruce is around here somewhere.  If you need anything, just ask him.  Otherwise, _have fun_.”

Bucky nods.  He thanks Tony and Tony shimmies away, greeting almost every person he passes on his way back to the door.  Bucky finishes his drink.  He steels himself.  He’s decided that, for now, he’s going to watch.  He’ll find some secluded corner and just try to soak up as much knowledge as possible in the next few hours.  That’s what tonight is for, knowledge.  So Bucky grabs a small plate of food and finds his way to a couch in a dark corner.

A man named Phil strikes up a conversation with Bucky as soon as he sits down and, much like last night, Bucky finds it easy to be pulled into conversation.  Phil’s dominant, Maria, has him get them drinks, and soon, Bucky is downing his second drink and falling easily into light chatter.  People come and go.  Bucky introduces himself.  He eats from his paper plate and occasionally watches the people engaged in BDSM acts.  He quickly learns that these are called scenes, and Phil launches into an over winded explanation of the term.  That is, until Maria shuts him up and yanks him down to sit at her feet.  Her attention is drawn to the open area.  The music is turned down a bit, and Bucky turns to see what everyone is looking at.

Black Widow saunters into a weak spotlight.  She motions to someone unseen, and the music changes abruptly.  This song is even slower and deeper, almost hauntingly so.  The entire party seems to have stopped, and everyone is watching her.  Nobody speaks.  Bucky can’t take his eyes away.  Tonight, she’s dressed in what looks like a military uniform.  A tight, olive green skirt, a matching corset, broad shouldered jacket with gold accents, an officer’s hat sat on tight curls, knee high black boots.  She holds a whip and looks out across the crowd of people.  Bucky catches glimpse of sandy hair cutting through the crowd.

Hawkeye breaks free of the crowd of people, two suitcases in tow.  He drops them at Black Widow’s feet before taking off after some sort of rack, a short table, and a blanket.  He sets them all out perfectly as Black Widow waits, watches with an appraising eye.  There’s something in her stare that’s giving Bucky chills.   

“What’s happening?” Bucky whispers to Maria.

Maria turns but doesn’t take her eyes off of Black Widow, talking quietly out of the side of her mouth.

“Headmistress does a scene at every party.  They’re really good.  Worth the watch.”

Bucky nods, not sure what to expect.  Hawkeye moves in close to Black Widow.  Black Widow caresses his bare arms carefully before putting a hand at the small of his back and pulling him in to run her lips along his neck.  Hawkeye’s head drops back, eyes closed.  Black Widow moves carefully, whispering in Hawkeye’s ear.  The man crouches down and begins unzipping the suit cases.  Black Widow waits as he unloads them, piece by piece, setting objects onto the rack and table as he goes.  Whips, rope, clamps, clothespins, dildos.  On and on it goes, a veritable treasure trove of dangerous looking sex toys.  When he is finished, he kneels carefully at Black Widow’s feet, arms folded behind his back and spine straight.

Black Widow turns and runs her fingers over the many bundles of rope.  She begins selecting hanks, setting them aside.  Hawkeye doesn’t move.  He keeps his eyes on the ground as Black Widow moves around him.  Bucky is finding it hard to breath. 

Black Widow reaches up to a metal ring that hangs from the ceiling, tugging on it a couple times before beginning to work quickly, attaching a number of carabiners then tapping on Hawkeye’s shoulder.  The man climbs to his feet, hands still behind his back.  Black Widow reaches out and runs a finger along the black metal collar around Hawkeye’s neck.  Hawkeye turns his face, rubbing his cheek along Black Widow’s hand lovingly.  Everyone in the room seems enraptured, Bucky included.  A cover of the song White Rabbit comes on.  Black Widow snatches up a hank of rope and unravels it.

Bucky was in the Army, he knows some knots.  From the distance, though, he can’t really see what Black Widow is doing.  All he can see is the results, and any knowledge about ropes he thought he had seems dismissible compared to what Black Widow is doing.  She is wrapping Hawkeye in rope, fingers moving lightning fast, tying knots and creating intricate and beautiful patterns.  Hawkeye’s arms are still behind his back and Black Widow ensures he stays that way with rope.  Every movement she makes is purposeful, calculated, and intimate.  Hawkeye’s head drops back on her shoulder as she holds him upright and ties him down tightly.  The rope digs into the man’s skin, and Bucky digs his nails into his legs.

Black Widow reaches up, taking the remaining length of rope and attaching it to the ring above.  Inch by inch, she hikes Hawkeye up until he is on his tip toes before reaching for his ankle and yanking it out from under him.  Hawkeye struggles on one unsteady foot, but Black Widow holds him still.  Black Widow moves lightning fast, tying Hawkeye’s ankle to his thigh and then hiking his entire leg upwards and attaching the rope to one of the carabiners.  Hawkeye is twisted awkwardly, and Black Widow readjusts the rope around his chest, turning him so he hangs with his bound knee up and his body turned outwards, hanging sideways.  She grabs more rope and continues, looping through the rope on Hawkeye’s leg and then around the rope holding his upper body, tightening the two at a lower point and forcing Hawkeye into an awkward and painful position.

At this point, Black Widow pauses, coming around the front of Hawkeye.  The man’s eyes flutter open and he looks up at Black Widow, breathing hard.  Black Widow leans forward, bringing her lips to his ear.  The man nods frantically, sweating pouring down his forehead, and Black Widow smiles wickedly. 

“This is going to be fun,” Maria chuckles from next to Bucky, pulling his attention.  The woman leans forward with a grin.

Black Widow leans down and grabs Hawkeye’s other leg, the one holding his weight at this point.  She glances up at Hawkeye and the man nods again, shifting himself and picking up his leg.  His weight hangs entirely on the ropes, and Bucky can hear him grunt as Black Widow begins to tie his other leg similar to the other.  She tightens Hawkeye into a frog legged position before securing the other leg to his chest.  Without a pause, she steps back and shoves hard against Hawkeye’s shoulder.  The man begins to spin as Black Widow turns to look out at the crowd with an evil glint in her eye.   

The song turns to Marilyn Manson’s Personal Jesus.  Bucky is getting warm.  He wants to take off his jacket, but he can’t.  So he gets to his feet and walks towards the back of the room, near the back door.  Meanwhile, Black Widow is setting up some sort of device.  She connects clamps to the rope that holds Hawkeye.  With a flourish, she turns and faces the crowd, a small black box in her hands.

People are whispering to each other, eyes wide, excited.  Black Widow arches an eyebrow and turns a small dial.  Immediately, Hawkeye begins to seize and spasm.  He twists and twitches, unable to move or escape.  Bucky has no idea what’s happening until somebody nearby whispers, “Conductive rope!” with glee.

Conductive rope?  That’s a fucking thing?  Bucky feels a bit light headed but he can’t take his eyes off the the scene before him, he wouldn’t dare.  Hawkeye is making small noises, and, with a metal rod in one hand, Black Widow leans down with a grin and caresses his face once more.  She sets the box aside, turning the dial, and goes to work on the ropes again.  Hawkeye pants and sweats during the reprieve.  A moment later, he is twisting downwards as Black Widow readjusts the ropes, moving him into a different position.  Hawkeye is face first, hips still twisted at a painful angle, back arched severely.  He’s clearly having a hard time breathing, chest constricted by rope, nostrils flaring.  Black Widow crouches down and puts her face beneath his.  She strokes his cheek until his eyes open, until his breathing slows down.  Black Widow’s lips move.  There’s a long pause before Hawkeye nods.  Black Widow kisses him carefully on the forehead and straightens.

Once more, Black Widow turns the dial on the black box.  Once more, Hawkeye begins to seize.  Black Widow turns away from him with a sigh, brushing her hair back as she removes her hat.  Hawkeye is grunting, body stiff, muscles tightened as he spins slowly in the air.  Carefully, Black Widow selects a crop from the rack of toys.  In her other hand, she holds the metal rod as she turns to face Hawkeye once again.  The man looks like he is in pain, but his face is slowly relaxing.  His eyes are closed, his lips are parted.  Sweat drenches his hair but he seems to be slowly slipping away.  Black Widow puts a hand against the small of his back to stop him from spinning.

The crack of the crop against Hawkeyes exposed ass, his back, his feet, his hands echoes across the room.  With electricity moving through him, his body is already tight, yet he jumps slightly each time.  His muscles are beginning to give out.  He slumps forward as much as the rope and the current allows. 

Bucky’s jaw is tight.  He is entirely enraptured.  He wonders if this is what a religious experience feels like.  He’s never had any religion, but this feels…transcendent.  Like everything in Bucky’s life is suddenly becoming right, suddenly becoming clear.  He can’t tear his eyes away from Black Widow.  The way her green eyes glint, the way she smirks when Hawkeye squirms, the way she grins when she turns up the current, the way she shushes him gently before hitting him harder than ever.  Bucky wants to get on his knees.  He wants to worship at this alter.  He wants to be baptized in the dark glow of Black Widow’s eyes. 

The rest of the scene happens in almost a blur, yet somehow in slow motion at the same time.  Black Widow puts down the crop, she turns off the current, she slowly brings Hawkeye back down to earth and unties him.  Hawkeye pants and slumps boneless against Black Widow.  The people around the room are beginning to mill about.  Chatter begins again, the music is turned up, other people begin to take places at pieces of furniture to start their own scenes.  But Bucky is still staring at Black Widow.  There are deep purple lines in the places where the rope used to be on Hawkeye’s skin.  She waves a tall, thin man to her and when the man returns, he has a bottle of water and a blanket.  Black Widow wraps Hawkeye in the blanket, puts the bottle of water against Hawkeye’s lips until he drinks, rubs his hands and shoulders, all the while whispering in his ear. 

“James,” somebody calls.  Bucky doesn’t want to look away, but he does.  It’s Bruce, friendly smile in place as he approaches.  “Tony told me you were here.”

Bucky huffs, trying to hide his annoyance as he turns to look at Bruce.  The man is dressed in a purple suit, a drink in his hand, hair still slightly askew. 

“Did you enjoy the scene?” Bruce asks, taking note of the look on Bucky’s face.

“It was…” Bucky doesn’t have a word for it.  Awesome.  Beautiful.  Life changing.  “…great to see.”

“Yeah, Headmistress is pretty great at Shibari Kinbaku.”

Bucky nods like he knows what that means.

“Where do you learn stuff like that?” Bucky asks.

Bruce shrugs.

“Well, there’s lots of classes in the area, and conventions.  You have a fet now, you can check out all the events.  And you can always ask someone to teach you, if that’s what you’re interested in.”

“How much does that hurt?” Bucky follows up quickly.  “Being tied up like that?”

“Suspension?” Bruce clarifies.  Bucky nods.  “I don’t know.  I’ve never been suspended before.  Some people like it, some people think it hurts too much.”

“Would she do that to me?”  The question slips out before Bucky realizes it.  Bruce balks for a moment before shrugging once more.

“I guess you’d have to ask her.  But…she’s picky.”

An idea hits Bucky.  Half of an idea anyway.  He doesn’t know why, but all the fears he had had before are quickly dissipating.  Sand through his fingers, he can’t believe that they were stopping him before.  He thanks Bruce for the chat and wanders away without a second glance.  He moves like he’s on autopilot, like gravity pulling him into orbit.  Black Widow and Hawkeye aren’t where they were before, Bucky can’t see them anywhere.  He numbly walks through the party until he finds them in the quiet room.  Black Widow sits in an armchair, Hawkeye at her feet, the skinny man from earlier rubbing Hawkeye’s back.  Bucky pauses and waits.  He has a feeling he shouldn’t interrupt. 

Black Widow finally bends down to whisper in the skinny man’s ear.  The man nods brightly and Black Widow gets to her feet.  As she walks away, Hawkeye collapses against the other man.  Black Widow’s eyes find Bucky and narrow carefully.  Bucky swallows hard.

“James,” Black Widows purrs in a tenor that makes Bucky’s stomach melt.  “Glad you could make it.”

Bucky’s mouth is dry.  He freezes for a moment, suspended in space as Black Widow looks him up and down questioningly.  Without a coherent thought, his legs shaking, Bucky lowers himself until he is on his knees.

“Headmistress, may I serve you tonight?”


	3. Hearth

Bucky’s voice is weak, almost breaking as he breathes out the words far too quickly.  Black Widow arches an eyebrow at him, glancing down.  Bucky’s jaw tightens and he drops his gaze to the floor for a moment, only looking back up once the sudden ringing in his ears has disappeared.  Black Widow tongue runs along her teeth, red lips parted, a mesmerizing move.

“You’re wearing far too many clothes,” Black Widow purrs as a response.

Bucky sputters.  She wants him to undress.  It should be a simple request.  Hell, most of the people at this party are naked. 

“Do-do I have to?” Bucky stutters.

Black Widow scoffs.

“I thought you were offering me your service,” she retorts, shoulders rolling back as her attention is drawn.  She’s going to walk away, Bucky can see it in her body language.

“I-I do!” Bucky cries.  “It’s just…uhm…”

Black Widow rolls her eyes, sighing.  Bucky has no choice.  His heart beats in his ears.  Why is he so fucking afraid right now?  He grits his teeth, trying to ignore the beginnings of a panic attack pressing in at his temples as he pulls his glove off his left hand.  Bucky grabs the zipper of his jacket in his shaky fingers, unzipping it slowly.  Black Widow looks back down at him, curious.  The jacket slides from Bucky’s shoulders and hits the ground.  He keeps his eyes on the carpet, grabbing the edge of his long sleeved shirt.  From above Bucky, there’s a small gasp and a hand falls on his shoulder, stilling him.

Bucky glance up at Black Widow.  Her green eyes stare down at him, jumping around his upper body.  He sees her eyes on his left hand, travelling up his covered arm, moving across his chest.  Finally, they come to meet Bucky’s own vulnerable gaze. 

“Come with me,” she says quietly, turning to walk the other direction.

Bucky pushes himself to his feet uncertainly.  He grabs his jacket, using it to hide his hand as he follows Black Widow through the party.  They walk through the main room, past the bar, and into the quiet room.  Near the doorway, Hawkeye sits on one of the couches, wrapped in a blanket and leaned against the thin, dark haired man from earlier.  Black Widow pauses to run her fingers along Hawkeye’s cheek.  Hawkeye nods vaguely up at her and Black Widow keeps walking until she reaches an armchair that sits near the mouth of the fireplace.  She sits down gracefully.

“Sit here,” Black Widow directs, motioning to the ground in front of her.

Carefully, Bucky kneels on the ground in front of the armchair.  The fire is warm, and the quiet of the room is putting him at ease.  In the firelight, Black Widow’s face seems softer.  She looks down at Bucky and holds out her hand.

In uncertain, jerking movements, Bucky extracts his left hand from the jacket in his lap and puts it in Black Widow’s open palm.  Her thumb brushes gently across the metal of his wrist, drawing a slow circle until Bucky looks up at her.  There’s a question in her eyes, but it isn’t insistent or forceful. 

“May I?” Black Widow asks in a soft voice.

A shiver runs through Bucky’s entire body.  His hand clenches hard in Black Widow’s palm.

“You can say no,” Black Widow assures.

“It’s okay,” Bucky replies immediately, mouth dry as he tears his eyes away and fixes them on a spot on the carpet.

Black Widow’s fingers close on Bucky’s wrist and she leans forward.  Her other hand comes up and pushes his sleeve up to his elbow.  Bucky keeps his eyes down and his jaw tight as Black Widow’s feather soft fingers run along the metal plates of Bucky’s forearm.  It’s a gentle touch, but Bucky can feel it.  He waits for the questions to start.  How did you lose it?  Where did you get the prosthetic?  Can you feel this?  How about this?  Can you get it wet?

Bucky realizes that Black Widow has stopped moving.  He glances up at her to find her staring hard at his face, waiting for him to look at her.  Bucky swallows hard and brings his gaze to her cheekbones, unable to look her in the eye.

“Do you want me to stop, James?” Black Widow asks carefully.

Bucky flounders.  He has no answer for that question.

“Hey,” Black Widow breathes.  She waits until Bucky finally looks her in the eye.  “It’s okay.”

Another shiver makes Bucky visibly shake.  Black Widow’s grip tightens on Bucky’s wrist.  Her warm palm has never moved.  She hasn’t recoiled, there’s no pity in her gaze.  She doesn’t move, she simply waits.  Bucky takes a few grounding breaths.  It’s okay.  He’s okay.  Bucky nods.

Black Widow’s hand moves away from his arm and towards his face.  She brushes Bucky’s cheek lightly.  It’s an intimate motion, one he’s seen her perform on Hawkeye countless times.  But it works.  Tension leaks from Bucky’s muscles, little by little. 

“How far up does it go?” Black Widow asks, fingers once more running up and down the metal pates gently.  Her eyes move to Bucky’s arm, and there’s a look on her face that Bucky’s never seen on the face of someone who sees his arm.  It’s not pity, it’s not even curiosity.  She looks…engrossed.   

“All the way to the shoulder,” Bucky replies slowly.  “D-do you want to see it?”

“I do.”

It’s a short answer.  It’s not insistent or demanding but Bucky moves immediately to pull his shirt off.  Bucky steels himself for when she gets a look at his shoulder, at the mass of keloid scars that sully his skin, at the twisted lines that run to his spine and to his sternum.  But Black Widow doesn’t make a sound.  Her facial expression remains even as her eyes run up along Bucky’s upper arm and shoulder.  Her fingers run along the inside of his arm, hissing along the shimmering metal.  The reflective metal dances and shimmers in the firelight, making his arm look gold instead of silver.  Black Widow’s other hand never leaves Bucky’s wrist.  He waits for her to touch the scars, to comment on them, to gasp or make any mention of the ugly, twisted skin that makes up most of Bucky’s shoulder..  There’s sweat suddenly running down his forehead and chest. 

Black Widow must sense his discomfort, because her fingers fall away.  Bucky glances at his own arm.  He hates looking at it.  He keeps it covered as much as possible, refusing to even look at himself in the mirror when he isn’t clothed.  It’s a constant, ugly reminder of something Bucky has spent over two years trying desperately to forget.  Bucky tears his eyes away.  He can’t bear to look at the thing for long.  His eyes find the carpet again.

“It’s very beautifully made,” Black Widow says.

Bucky swallows hard.  The questions are going to start, they always start.

Black Widow’s fingers brush along Bucky’s cheek again, drawing his attention to her.  He knows that the expression on his face must be one of strained uneasiness.  His jaw is tight, his brow is pinched.  Black Widow’s other hand opens, releasing Bucky all together.  He draws his arm in against his abdomen, hating the way the cold metal feels against his suddenly heated skin.

“You truly want to serve me?” Black Widow asks.

Bucky doesn’t look up at her but he nods numbly.

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispers.

“Put your shirt back on,” she directs.  It’s softly spoken, but it’s an order.  The tone of her voice is unmistakable.  Bucky moves without thinking, grabbing his shirt and pulling it back onto his body. 

“Sit on the floor,” Black Widow commands next.  “And look at the fire.”

Bucky does as he’s told, unfolding his knees from beneath him and turning so his back is to the chair.  He pulls his knees in close to his chest and stares into the fire, unsure what to expect.  He’s rigid, his heart is still pounding in his ears, too many emotions twisting in his gut.  He’s not expecting Back Widow’s perfectly manicured hand to land on his chest and pull him back until he rests against the leg of the chair.  He’s really not expecting it when Black Widow’s fingers tangle themselves in his hair.

Bucky doesn’t dare to move as Black Widow pulls the elastic from his hair, letting his locks fall around his shoulders.  She begins to pet Bucky carefully, her long red nails scraping gently across Bucky’s scalp.  Goosebumps erupt across Bucky’s skin at the touch.

“Where did you grow up, James?”

Bucky stares into the fireplace.  Red tongues engulf the logs, crackling and dancing. 

“Brooklyn,” Bucky replies quietly. 

“Really?  So what brought you all the way out here?”

“The Army.”

“You were in the Army?” Black Widow muses.  “I was in the Marine Corps.”

“Really?” Bucky asks, genuinely surprised. 

“Well, you didn’t think I got my outfit tonight from a costume store, now did you?”

Bucky can’t help but laugh a bit.

“I did notice that it was quite accurate,” Bucky says. 

“What was your MOS?”

“Me?” Bucky replies.  “I was just a grunt.  11 bravo.”

“I like your tattoos,” Black Widow says, surprising Bucky.  He didn’t even think she had noticed them.  “You have a great artist.”

“Yeah, I’m actually looking for a new artist around here.”

Black Widow’s fingers are still in Bucky’s hair.  It’s a pleasant feeling, one that, along with the fire, is making Bucky feel suddenly rather tired.  He leans heavily back against the chair, eyes still on the flames.  The conversation is light, easy.  Bucky waits for Black Widow to bring up his arm, but she doesn’t.  She never asks how he lost it, she never presses him for details.  Bucky feels more at ease than he has in a while.  Black Widow’s voice is low and quiet, like a lullaby.  When she chuckles, it sounds more like a purr.  Her fingers never stop moving through Bucky’s hair and he loves it.  She’s so quickly putting Bucky at ease, it’s disarming.  He doesn’t know if she’s doing it on purpose, but there’s a warmth spreading through Bucky’s gut and he can’t blame it entirely on the fire.

Nobody bothers them.  People move in and out of the room, the sounds of their similarly quiet conversations is almost soothing.  

“My feet are killing me,” Black Widow says at one point.

“I can rub them,” Bucky pipes up immediately without thinking.

“Right answer,” Black Widow purrs.  Bucky turns himself around so he’s facing Black Widow once again.  She looks down at him with a small smile.  “Good boy.”

Bucky feels himself blush at the praise.  Black Widow’s voice seems to soak directly into Bucky’s brain.  He’s somehow at ease and intensely nervous at the same time, a sensation he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before.  Carefully, he takes Black Widow’s left foot into his hands.  She leans forward, unzipping the knee high boot and Bucky removes it the rest of the way carefully.  Underneath, Black Widow wears fishnets.  Bucky begins to massage her foot, softly at first.  Black Widow sighs, head falling back against the chair back. 

“Along the arch,” she directs.  “These shoes are murder.”

Bucky smiles to himself, moving his left thumb to press up and along Black Widow’s arch.  She groans happily as he digs his metal digit into the small muscles there. 

“I watched your…scene,” Bucky says sheepishly.

“Did you?” Black Widow replies.

“Yeah it was…really beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Black Widow smiles, eyes closed lightly.  “Is that something that interests you?”

“Suspension?”  Bucky chuckles to himself.  “Maybe.”

“That sounds like a little more than a maybe.”

Bucky smiles, fingers working diligently.  He unzips her other shoe and works it off, starting in on that foot.

“You have…very deft fingers, I must say, James,” Black Widow says with a small smile.  The suggestion is obvious.  Bucky grins to himself, keeping his eyes on his work even though he suddenly wants to look at Black Widow’s face.

Someone in a yellow sash emblazoned with the letters “DM” walks purposefully into the room, hustling until he reaches the armchair. 

“I’m sorry, Headmistress,” the man says carefully.  “But I need you for something in the kitchen.”

Black Widow sighs heavily, lifting a hand to wave the man away.  He takes a few steps back, but waits anxiously for her.  Finally, Black Widow’s eyes open.  She leans forward, fingers brushing a loose hair behind Bucky’s ear.  Bucky sits upright, reaching for one of the boots.

“This was lovely,” Black Widow says quietly, fingers pausing on the skin of Bucky’s ear.  He shivers again as her eyes search his face.

“Thank you, Headmistress,” Bucky breathes. 

Then she smiles, a true, honest to god smile.  It’s bright and it’s brilliant and it turns Bucky’s insides to gelatin.  He wants to melt into the floor.  He wants to follow Black Widow everywhere.  He wants to shout with excitement.  He wants to beg her not to leave.  So many emotions that Bucky can’t comprehend are flooding his body and he has no idea how to process any of them.  He barely breathes as Black Widow adjusts her shoes and gets to her feet gracefully.  She pauses to look down at Bucky.

Bucky stares up at Black Widow, and everything feels so incredibly right in that moment.  He wants to freeze time.  He wants to take this moment and extend it on forever and ever.  But he can’t.  And a moment later, Black Widow turns and follows the man out of the room, leaving Bucky alone beside the fire.


	4. Ennui

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kind of an angsty chapter here, folks. Be warned, ye who enter here.  
> Also, the Jess mentioned in this chapter is Jessica Drew, AKA Spiderwomen

In the week that follows, Bucky finds himself thinking about Black Widow far too often.  He imagines her lips parting in a smile.  He remembers the way the firelight had looked in her green eyes.  He ruminates about the way her voice sent shivers up his spine.  He thinks about her as he lies awake in bed at night, his ever constant insomnia keeping him trapped with nothing but his own thoughts.  He thinks about her as he works out, pushing himself harder than ever as loud rock music blares in his ears.  He thinks about her at work, causing him to be yelled at several times for slacking.

“You’re awfully distracted, Barnes,” Jess observes with a worried look.

“Hmm?” Bucky mumbles, glancing up from the pile of papers in front of him.

“Are you…doing alright?”

There’s concern in her voice.  Jess quickly and easily became Bucky’s best friend when he stared work at the gym last year.  She’s sarcastic, sardonic, and unflappable.  Never self-serious or over concerned with the impression she leaves on other people.  To many people, it’s off putting.  Jess…has a lot of personality.  But for Bucky, who had reluctantly applied to be a personal trainer after he had realized that his VA checks alone wouldn’t be enough to get by on and that he didn’t really have any other skills, she was a god send.  Every other employee when Bucky had started had kept their distance.  He didn’t blame them.  At the time, he must have looked entirely unapproachable.  This PTSD riddled war veteran with a robotic arm who rarely spoke, he hadn’t been very good with clients and had very nearly lost the job after not even a month.  Everyone was too afraid to talk to him.  Whether they pitied him or were scared of him, Bucky didn’t know.  Then there was Jess.

“So, if you ever get fat, do you get a new arm to match, or do you have one jacked arm and one fat one?”

That’s the first thing she had said to Bucky, and it had shaken him out of a stupor he hadn’t known he had been in.  She had taken him drinking that night.  Bucky hadn’t wanted to go.  In fact, ever since he had gotten home, he’d been generally avoiding crowds, or people in general.  Crowds meant questions.  Questions meant remembering.  Remembering meant a panic attack.  But Jess had a way of putting Bucky at ease.  She kept him distracted, kept his attention on her, or on something else innocuous.  She refused to ever let Bucky be caught up in his own head.  Because she was a vet too and, as Bucky had soon learned, she had struggled with reintegrating to the real world as well. 

Little by little, Jess had broken down Bucky’s walls.  They made quite the pair.  Swearing and drinking and picking fights and each struggling with their own demons.  They were pretty much a pair of walking red flags, but neither of them particularly cared.  The New You Fitness Center didn’t quite care either because there seems to be a steady stream of customers who want their trainers to act like drill sergeants, especially ever since Crossfit became popular.        

Today was a slow day, however, and the manager had told Jess and Bucky to go in the back office to look over member payments.  Well, he had told Bucky to get off the floor after he had gotten two complaints from clients, and Jess had happily followed him after her last scheduled client had left. 

“You been seeing Dr. McCoy still?” Jess asks cautiously.

“Yeah, it’s not…war stuff,” Bucky mumbles vaguely, rereading the same line of numbers over and over.

Jess snorts.

“Barnes, you’re a walking billboard for ‘war stuff.’”

Bucky furrows his brow but doesn’t respond.  Jess sighs heavily, shoving her stack of papers away from her. 

“Come on, man, you know you can talk to me,” she huffs, crossing her arms and fixing Bucky with an intent look.

Bucky wants to laugh at the absurdity.  Of everyone in Bucky’s life, a very limited list as it is, he’s probably told Jess the most.  Not everything, but more than anyone else.  He wonders what she would say if he told her that he was thinking about a dominatrix that he met. 

“It’s just…” Bucky begins weakly, putting his pen down but not looking up at Jess.  “I sorta…maybe…met someone.”

Jess’s brows shoot upwards.

“Seriously?” she asks, excitement and disbelief in her voice.

Bucky shrugs.

“It’s probably nothing,” he replies. “She probably doesn’t…like me like that.”

“Where’d you meet?” Jess follows up immediately.

“A party.”

“You went to a party without me?” Jess cries, slightly indignant.

“I don’t think it’s really your scene,” Bucky chuckles mostly to himself. 

“Parties _are_ my scene,” Jess retorts.  “Anyway, what’s her name?”

Bucky balks and Jess catches it.

“You didn’t get a name?!  Are you _trying_ to sabotage yourself?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Bucky replies, voice hardening. 

“Don’t you dare act like this isn’t a big deal, Barnes,” Jess says.  “I’ve known you for over a year and you’ve _never_ mentioned anyone.”

“Drew, you know as well as I do that dating isn’t exactly…easy for us,” Bucky snaps.  Jess makes a face at him but falls quiet.  Bucky sighs, dry washing his face.  “I don’t know if I’m really ready for it yet.”

“Well if this girl is what’s making you act like an idiot all week, then she must be something.  I know you, and I know your standards are stupid impossible to meet.”

“That’s not true,” Bucky defends.

“Oh yeah?” Jess says.  “What about Dot?  She was _super_ into you, but you pretty much ghosted her.”

“I told you, I’m not ready for that kind of stuff.”

“Then what kind of stuff are you ready for?” Jess retorts. 

Bucky shrugs.

“I don’t know,” he sighs.  “I’m still…working things out.”

“When’s the last time you got laid?”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Just because you cope with sex doesn’t mean that that’ll work for me,” Bucky snaps, meaner than he meant to be. 

Jess bristles, crossing and uncrossing her arms. 

“You can be an asshole sometimes, Barnes.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, and he means it.  “That was…really rude.”

“You’re telling me,” Jess says, leaning forward.  “You’re lucky that I love you.”

“Can we just go back to work?” Bucky asks, voice strained.

Jess sighs and nods, picking up her pen again.

“We’re gonna have this conversation eventually though,” Jess warns before leaning over her paper.

Bucky nods and tries to get back to work.  But his mind is still elsewhere.  Namely, on the way Black Widow looks in latex.  He’s been obsessively looking through her fetlife pictures for the last four days.  But deep down, Bucky is a coward, because he hasn’t sent her a message since the party.  In fact, once Black Widow had left the quiet room, Bucky had bolted.  All the comfortable, positive feelings he had had in Black Widow’s presence had dissipated the moment she had left the room.  It had left Bucky feeling sick to his stomach, weak, ashamed, pathetic.  He had grabbed his jacket and slipped out the back door before anyone could stop him.   

Bucky clocks out but doesn’t leave.  Instead, he wails on a punching bag for forty five minutes, ducking into the bathroom when Jess comes looking for him.  She sends him a text, asking where he went, but Bucky ignores it and changes out of his sweaty clothes.  He doesn’t want to go home, but he doesn’t want to go anywhere else either.  Bucky is aimless.  That’s been his problem for the past two years.  He _wants_ to do things.  He wants to get a better job.  He wants to make friends.  He wants to go home and see his sister.  He wants to go college.  But those things take effort.  And that effort seems so incredibly insurmountable.  So all that leaves is Bucky, drifting through life like a rickety raft through the vast ocean of life.  All he can do is drive back to his house, grab a beer, and try to distract himself with an action movie.  Distract himself from the sad reality of his life, distract himself from the sad reality of who he is now. 

Bucky knows there was a time when he had drive, when he set goals and accomplished them, when he wasn’t afraid of living.  But he can’t remember it.  He feels like he’s _always_ been this way, like there was never a point when he wasn’t just an empty shell.  Maybe he has always been an empty shell, he’s just had the convenience of other people filling that shell.  Have his goals ever been his own?  Or were they simply given to him by someone else?  First his father, then the Army, he’s always had someone else driving him.  Now those people are gone and only Bucky is left.  And Bucky isn’t sure that he’s enough. 

About halfway through the movie, Bucky realizes that he’s been flexing his fingers.  It’s something he does when his anxiety acts up, balling his hands into fists, cracking his flesh fingers over and over, trying to crack his left fingers even though he knows he can’t and getting frustrated.  This usually leaves his right hand aching.  Bucky is exhausted.  Not physically, but mentally.  His brain has been running frantic laps for at least the past four days.  Reluctantly, Bucky gets up and goes to his medicine cabinet.  He doesn’t want to have to take his meds.  He thought he was doing better, but maybe he’s just as broken as he’s always been.  He takes two clonazepam, swallowing them down with beer. 

The meds rush through Bucky, empty him out, leaving him feeling comfortably numb.  He collapses back into the couch and pulls out his phone.  When he pulls up fetlife, he has a message waiting for him from Black Widow.  Through the haze of the medication, he feels his panic spike before being washed away by the tide of unfeeling.

_You ran off before saying goodbye the other night._

Bucky bites his lip, considering a response.

_Sorry.  It was a lot to handle.  But I enjoyed the party, thank you for inviting me._

Bucky waits for a reply, but it doesn’t come.  Why would Black Widow reply to him?  She’s given him two chances now, and he’s failed both times.  She’s a gorgeous, powerful, confident woman who seems to have everything.  What on earth would she want with Bucky?  Everyone else in her life is fearless and full of personality.  Bucky, on the other hand, is quiet, reserved, and obviously broken both physically and mentally.  Everyone Black Widow knows is an active participant in their own lives, meanwhile, Bucky is simply a voyeur.  Black Widow probably has literally hundreds of men, and women, vying for her attention, why would she give it to Bucky?  He doesn’t deserve a woman like Black Widow, and she has no reason to be interested in him. 

In the end, Bucky falls asleep on the couch, ushered into dreamless sleep by the clonazepam.  As the last bits on consciousness slip away, Bucky’s mind conjures words he remembers from Basic Training.

_Ain’t no use in looking down.  Ain’t no discharge on the ground._

 

Bucky wakes with a dry mouth to his alarm on his nearly dead phone.  He curses himself for falling asleep on the couch and not plugging his phone in as he jumps to his feet.  He actually slept the whole night through, and that’s a small blessing, at least he tries to remind himself of that as he jumps in the shower.  He barely makes it out the door on time.

Bucky has three clients scheduled today.  The first is a middle aged man with an obvious comb-over.  He’s been with Bucky for a few months now, working his way through his midlife crisis and constantly asking Bucky about the Army and trying to draw him into political discussions.  The second is a new client, a young woman with shiny blonde hair who flirts mercilessly with Bucky.  Her nonstop suggestive comments start to grate Bucky. 

“This _is_ my favorite position,” she says slyly as Bucky repositions her knees in a dumbbell row.

His final client is some college aged fraternity douchebag, assigned to Bucky because his regular trainer is out, who says shit like, “get swol” seriously.  Bucky is on his last straw, and that finally breaks when the kid points out some girl across the room.

“Check out the ass on that one,” the kid snarks with an idiotic, self-satisfied grin.  “Pants that tight shouldn’t be allowed, it’s like they’re asking for it, right?”

“Why the fuck would you say that?” Bucky snaps immediately. 

“You know that chick?” the kid asks.

“No, and neither do you.  You can’t fucking talk about people like that.”

The kid makes a face and Bucky just gets angrier.

“Chill, dude,” the kid mutters, tone growing sour.

“Yeah, we’re done here,” Bucky retorts, turning away immediately.

“Hey!  I paid for a full hour!” the kid calls after him.

“Yeah, well take it up with my manager,” Bucky says over his shoulder, heading towards the offices.

The kid does take it up with Bucky’s manager.

“James, I have given you plenty of space in the time you’ve worked here,” his manager says as Bucky sits awkwardly across his desk.  “I know you’re…going through some stuff.  But this isn’t just strike three, it’s like strike thirty.”

Bucky looks at his hands, no response coming to mind.  He’s about to lose his job, he can see it in his manager’s body language.  His manager huffs when Bucky doesn’t reply and continues on.

“You can’t be combative with clients.  You’re not in the Army anymore.”

Bucky’s shoulders stiffen and he glares at his manager. 

“Sir, that kid was making some very lewd comments about one of the patrons,” Bucky says evenly, voice low.

His manager sighs, rubbing his temple, annoyed.

“How many times do I have to tell you, it’s Josh.  Not sir, just…Josh.”

“Well, Josh, I didn’t like the way he was talking about a young woman,” Bucky replies slowly, fists curled in his lap.

“I don’t give a shit what he said!” Josh cries.  “Did you know this woman?”

“ _Why_ does it matter if I fucking knew her?!” Bucky snaps, quickly losing his temper.

Josh chews on his cheek for a moment, face red.

“You had a _paying_ client—“ Josh begins.

“Oh, so just because he gave you some money I’m supposed to just let him make suggestions about raping another patron?” Bucky interrupts. 

Josh huffs angrily and gets to his feet.

“Go home, Barnes.”

Bucky doesn’t need to be told twice.  He gets up and grabs his stuff, marching out into the frigid air outside without another word.  When he checks his phone, he has a message from Jess.

_Whatd josh want?_

Bucky huffs and shoves his phone back into his pocket, fishing for his keys with his other hand.  He gets into his car, and once the door is shut and his music is up loud, he begins to scream.  He knows someone might see him and think he’s insane, but he doesn’t fucking care.  He screams as loud as he can until his throat begins to ache.  He wishes he had something to punch.  He turns his music up louder and pulls out of his spot, tires screeching as he tears out of the parking lot. 

On his way home, Bucky gets a call from Jess that he ignores.  He gets another call from her as he storms into his house.

“What?” he snarls as a greeting.

“Dude, what happened?” Jess presses.

“I’m probably fired, is that what you want to hear?”

Jess doesn’t respond for a long moment.

“I’m gonna talk to Josh.”

“Jess, no,” Bucky says, anger in his voice disappearing. 

“Yes, I am.  That self-entitled roid monster needs to be put in his place.”

“He’ll just fire you too.”

“Well, then we can job hunt together,” Jess says casually, as if that was a given.  “What did he fire you over?”

“He didn’t actually fire me…I don’t know.  I thought he was gonna fire me but then he just told me to go home.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Jess points out.

“Some frat guy…just said some shit that pissed me off.  I ended the session early.”

“We’re going out tonight,” Jess states matter-of-factly. 

“I’m not really in the mood,” Bucky replies.

“Well, then, I’m coming over and I’m bringing beer.”

Bucky sighs.  His anger has cooled a bit.  He looks around his messy house.

“Alright, fine,” he says.

Jess says she’ll be by around eight.  Bucky makes her promise not to go running into Josh’s office and giving him a piece of her mind.  Jess agrees, albeit very reluctantly, but withholds her right to chew Josh out if he does decide to fire Bucky.  When Jess hangs up, Bucky begins to attempt to clean up his house.  It’s a half-hearted attempt, but at least he gets all of his dirty clothes and dishes into one place.  

Bucky picks out a movie and waits for Jess to come over.  He’s feeling suddenly exhausted, so he collapses into his favorite armchair and pulls out his phone.  On fetlife, there’s a message waiting for him from Black Widow.

_Kik me.  Black_Widows_web_

Bucky’s stomach flips hopefully.  He hasn’t used kik in a long ass time, not since his last deployment, but he knows that it’s still on his phone.  He pulls it up and searches for Black_Widows_web.

Bucky has to catch himself.  He can feel his hopes getting up.  He doesn’t know what Black Widow wants.  The actual likelihood that she wants to talk to Bucky because she likes him is pretty fucking low.  He reminds himself that she already has plenty of people in her life who seem to worship the ground she walks on.  Bucky wants nothing more than to be one of those people, but why on earth would Black Widow want him?

A knock on his door startles Bucky out of his thoughts.  He gets up and finds Jess shivering in the snow.  She dumps a six pack in Bucky’s arms and shoves past him into the warmth.  She’s prattling on about Josh as she moves into Bucky’s kitchen.  Entirely at home, Jess throws open one of Bucky’s cabinets and grabs a bag of chips, commenting on how they should order some food.  They eventually settle on Greek, placing their order on GrubHub before settling on Bucky’s couch with their beer to watch the scary movie he’s decided on.

As the movie starts and Jess finally falls quiet, Bucky itches to get his phone from his pocket.  He finally gives in and pulls up kik once more.

_Hey, this is James._

Bucky puts his phone back into his pocket and tries to concentrate on the movie.  But a few minutes later, he feels his phone vibrate.  He can’t resist checking it.

_Good evening, James.  What are you doing tomorrow night?_

Bucky can’t help but gasp.  It’s a quiet, sharp intake of air, but Jess notices it immediately. 

“What?” Jess presses.

“Nothing,” Bucky mutters, putting his phone back into his pocket before Jess can rip it from his hands.

“Is Nothing the name of the mystery woman you’re all worked up about?” Jess asks slyly.

“I’m not worked up,” Bucky defends.

“So it _is_ the mystery woman,” Jess surmises with a grin.

Bucky shakes his head.  He can feel a blush running up his neck.

“Watch the movie,” he mumbles.

Jess rolls her eyes and looks back at the screen, but Bucky catches her glancing over at him every minute or so.  Bucky doesn’t pull his phone back out.  Instead, he tries hard to concentrate on the disembowelment of one of the idiotic teenagers in the movie.  Meanwhile, his brain is wheeling.  The same hopefulness from before is relit, burning brighter than before.  When the delivery guy knocks on the door, Bucky leaps to his feet.

After Bucky tips the bored looking delivery driver, he closes the door and pulls his phone out.

_No plans for tomorrow night, ma’am.  Why?_

Bucky carries the food back into the living room, but before he can sit down, his phone lights up in his hand with a new message.  Bucky puts the food down on the coffee table, pulling the boxes out of the bag impatiently as Jess begins to grab up the plastic utensils and starts in on some tabbouleh.  Bucky goes back into the kitchen for another beer, checking his phone as he goes.

_Because you’re taking me on a date._

Bucky almost drops his phone.  His heart is fluttering.  There’s actual butterflies in his stomach.  Bucky feels like a goddam teenager again and he can’t help but type in an immediate reply.

_I am?_

The reply comes instantaneously.

_You are.  What time should I pick you up?_

Bucky types out a response and sends it.

_I don’t have anything planned tomorrow.  Any time is fine with me, ma’am._

“What the hell are you doing in there?” Jess calls from the living room, making Bucky jump.  He had forgotten that she was here.  “You’re missing the football player being murdered.”

“Getting another beer,” Bucky responds weakly as another message lights up his screen.

_I’ll be by at 7.  Send me your address._

Bucky types in his address without a second thought.

_Great.  See you tomorrow at 7._

The green “active” icon beside Black Widow’s name turns red.  Bucky’s knees feel weak.  He numbly grabs two more beers, walking on stiff legs back to the living room and handing one to Jess.  She takes it gratefully, but pauses when she sees Bucky’s face.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, brow knit.

Bucky can’t hide the smile on his face, so he turns away as he sits down.  Jess pokes him in the flesh arm insistently.  Bucky sighs, but he can’t feel much but pure elation.  He tries to force his face into something less goofy, but it isn’t working.  So he turns to face Jess, ridiculous grin and all.

“I’m going on a date tomorrow night.”


	5. Distract

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: panic attack, alcohol and drug use (and by drugs I mean marijuana)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the awesome fan art that inspired Nat's look in this chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> and of course, the ever endearing Seb Stan *swooning noises*
> 
>  

Bucky does frantic laps around his bedroom, changing his outfit over and over again.  He has absolutely no idea what to wear.  He doesn’t know where he’s going tonight so he doesn’t know how well he should dress.  He figures the best bet would be something business casual.  But Bucky is a goddam personal trainer and he doesn’t have very many clothes that could be considered “business casual.”  It’s 6:45 when Bucky finally throws in the towel on his fifth outfit.  It’s a dark blue v-neck with one of his nicer jackets over it.  The jacket is tan and he wears his cleanest pair of jeans under it.  He laces up his combat boots underneath, telling himself that the tan boots go with the tan jacket, when in reality the familiar act is a comfort.  He looks at himself in the mirror, pulling his hair back into a bun at the base of his skull.  He dabs on his most expensive cologne, a gift from Jess on his last birthday.  It’s going to have to work because his phone is buzzing in his pocket with a message from Black Widow.

_Close_

Bucky swallows down the last of his second whiskey sour before wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans and dropping the glass into the sink.  He’s nervous, so fucking nervous.  It’s been a while since he’s felt this way.  His entire body is buzzing with anxious energy, he feels a bit ill.  This is happening, it’s actually happening, and Bucky can barely believe it.  It feels surreal, like a dream.  Waiting has to be the worst part, and he’s waited all freaking day.  He had nothing to do _but_ wait today, and the closer that 7:00 pm got, the more anxious Bucky grew. 

There’s a honk from the street.  Bucky grabs his wallet, keys, and phone, stuffing them into his pockets as he practically runs to the window.  What he sees sitting outside his house nearly knocks his breath out of him.

An all-black, shimmering Corvette Stingray idles quietly on the street outside.  The windows are tinted black and Bucky can’t see inside.  His neighbor across the street, letting his dogs out, stares wide eyed at the car.  Bucky feels the same way.  It’s a fucking beautiful vehicle.  The passenger window rolls down and Bucky sees a familiar splash of red.

With fat, slightly shaking fingers, Bucky throws open his door and braces himself for the cold.  He locks his front door behind him and bounds down the steep set of stairs to the street, still eying the gorgeous car and it’s even more gorgeous driver. 

Black Widow gives him a small, half smile through the rolled down window.

“Ready to go?” she purrs.

Bucky doesn’t think his tongue will work, so all he can do is nod dumbly, reaching for the door handle.  Black Widow unlocks the door and Bucky climbs in.  As soon as he shuts the door behind him, the car roars to life as Black Widow accelerates away from his house smoothly.

“This is a great car,” Bucky finally manages.

“Thanks,” Black Widow replies, not taking her eyes off the road.  “It was a gift.”

Bucky almost comments on the absurdity of that statement, but then he reminds himself of who this woman is.  Hell, if Bucky could afford it, he’d give Black Widow any goddam car she asked for. 

As Black Widow pulls out onto the main road, Bucky can only stare at her.  She wears all black, but it’s one hell of an outfit.  Tight black jeans, a gold studded belt, a black crop top and a black leather jacket with gold trim.  Underneath it all, she wears a full body fishnet.  She even has a pair of black, fingerless driving gloves, her nails painted a matte black.  Her hair is once again perfectly straight, and her lips are painted the same shade as her locks. 

“You look amazing,” Bucky says before he realizes his lips are moving.

Another half-smile from Black Widow and she glances over at Bucky.

“You look pretty good yourself.”  As always, there’s something in her voice, something that sounds like she knows a secret she isn’t sharing.   She chews her syllables, leaving Bucky hanging on every word.

The car beneath Bucky rumbles as Black Widow merges onto the highway.  Bucky is finding it hard to breath.  He concentrates on breathing through his nose as Black Widow turns up her music.  It’s Halestorm.  Dirty Work.  The suggestive lyrics don’t go over Bucky’s head.

_Get on your knees_

_And let the games begin._

_Bow to your queen_

_And I will crown your head._

“So where are we going?” Bucky asks over the music.

Black Widow smiles devilishly. 

“You’ll see.”

_I need someone young, willing and able._

_You need someone old enough to know better._

“Am I dressed alright?” Bucky follows up nervously.

Again, Black Widow glances over at him.  This time, her eyes linger a moment longer.

“Like I said, you look good.”

Bucky bites his lip and looks at his hands, trying his hardest not to blush.  God he feels like a teenager again.

_Do my dirty work._

_Do my dirty work._

Black Widow weaves in and out lanes with ease, speeding past the rest of the traffic.  Bucky can see the other drivers checking out the car as they zoom past.  He doesn’t think he’s ever been in a car this nice.  Of course, he’s also never gone on a date with a dominatrix, so it’s a night of firsts.

_Let me be your labor of love._

_My royal garden needs a hired man._

_Plant your seed, sow it._

_My roses all in your hand._

“I gotta admit, I’m kinda…nervous,” Bucky laughs weakly.  He sure fucking sounds nervous.

Black Widow chuckles like she finds that genuinely funny.

“It’d be weird if you weren’t,” she replies lightly.

_Do my dirty work._

_Do my dirty work._

“You’re trying to make me nervous,” Bucky realizes.

Again, Black Widow grins, wider this time, conspiratorial.  Bucky’s right.  She wants him to be nervous, she likes it.  Bucky feels himself growing warm.  She’s toying with him, like a cat with a mouse.  He should be upset by that, but instead, it’s just turning him on.  Again, Bucky concentrates on breathing through his nose.

Dirty Work ends and the next song begins.  Bucky doesn’t know this one, but it’s got a low baseline that, when combined with the purr of the engine, shakes Bucky to his very core.

“I’m sorry about running out of the party the other night,” Bucky says hurriedly, eyes still on his hands.

Black Widow shakes her head.

“It’s my fault,” she says.

Bucky furrows his brow.  He fails to see how that could be considered her fault.

“How is it your fault?” he asks.

“Someone’s first scene can be heavy and I just left you alone.  I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Scene?  That was a scene?”

Black Widow turns fully to look at Bucky, her green eyes flashing.

“Anything can be a scene,” she says earnestly.

Bucky chuckles, but it sounds watery and worn.

“Is this is a scene?” he asks, motioning vaguely with his hands at the car around him.

Black Widow cocks her head as if considering it.

“Do you want it to be?” she purrs, voice pitching low and suggestive.

Again Bucky laughs, unsure what to say.  He’s starting to sweat.  It’s overwhelming.  The car, the music, the way Black Widow looks.

“I’m kidding,” Black Widow says softly, smiling again.  This grin is warm instead of conspiratorial.  “It’s just a car ride.”

She’s trying to put Bucky at ease now and it’s making Bucky’s head spin.  One moment, she’s teasing him, trying to overwhelm him, the next she’s comforting him.  Bucky can’t get a read on her.  Again, he realizes that that should make him angry, but it really doesn’t.

Black Widow is pulling off the highway.  Bucky tries to see if he recognizes where they are, but he doesn’t.  He’s never taken this exit before. 

“So…do you want me to call you Black Widow all night?” Bucky asks nervously, unsure if that’s an appropriate question.

Black Widow cocks her head as if considering it.

“When we’re out in public, you can call me Natasha,” she says finally.  “Or Nat.”

“Okay,” Bucky replies, nodding.

“Though I prefer ‘ma’am,’” she adds.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky says.

Black Widow smiles.

“Good boy.”

Bucky shivers at the way her voice sounds when she calls him that. 

Nat whips the car into a parking lot and eases into a spot.  She pulls the keys from the ignition and turns fully in her seat to fix Bucky with a heavy stare.  She looks him up and down silently, and Bucky can only sit there feeling incredibly exposed.

“Ready?” she finally asks.

Bucky nods.

“As ready as I’m going to be.”

Nat doesn’t wait, she throws open her car door and unfolds.  Bucky watches her, fluid as ever, making every movement look like a dance.  Bucky pushes his door open and climbs out.  The car honks as it locks and Nat approaches Bucky.  Her heeled boots make her nearly as tall as he is.  She loops an arm through his and pulls him along gently.

In front of them is a church.  Bucky is confused when Nat begins to lead him towards it.  He notices the red Christmas lights that light the entire exterior.  There’s music coming from inside.  They head up the steps to the large, wooden front door.  Bucky reaches for the handle, holding it open for Nat.  The music inside is rock and roll, bleeding out into the cold night.  Nat releases Bucky’s arm and heads inside.  Bucky follows close on her heel.

The inside of the church has been gutted.  The high ceilings and stained glass are supplemented by gothic chandeliers and amplifiers.  At the front, where the alter used to be, is a stage.  A band plays loud rock music for a packed crowd.  There’s a bar to the left and Nat heads towards it.  Every head turns to stare at her as she slips through the crowd, one hand on Bucky’s forearm.  He can’t blame them, he can hardly keep his eyes off of her.  He’s entirely transfixed.

The crowd seems to part for Nat.  Not so for Bucky, and he squeezes in beside her when she comes to a stop at the bar.  She turns to flash Bucky a comforting smile as she waves to the bartender.  The bartender immediately drops what he’s doing to come to her beck and call. 

“Natasha!” he cries brightly over the loud music.  “Your table’s ready.”

Nat nods at the man and grabs hold of Bucky’s arm once more.  The bartender eyes Bucky speculatively.  They move around the side of the bar, towards a red door.  The bartender uses a set of keys to unlock it, revealing a staircase.  Nat doesn’t pause, climbing the steps surprisingly quickly considering the height of her heels.  The stairs are narrow, and Bucky follows close behind her, unsure what to expect.

The stairs open to a large mezzanine.  Bucky imagines that this must have been where the choir performed when this church was an actual church.  Now, it looks like a VIP area.  Black sound dampeners cover the walls, so the music is actually quieter up here.  Nat leads Bucky to a plush couch in front of a table that has a bottle of champagne sitting in an ice bucket. 

“Are you some kind of celebrity?” Bucky half jokes.

Nat just grins wickedly but doesn’t answer Bucky’s question. 

Nat lets Bucky into the seat first, following him gracefully.  She reaches for the bottle of champagne, not waiting for a waiter, popping the cork off with a loud _crack._   The foam pours forth onto the table, and Bucky reaches for the pair of flutes on the table, holding one out to Nat.  She fills the first glass and Bucky holds out the other, which she fills as well.  She drops the bottle back into the ice and picks up her flute, holding it out.

“Here’s to new friends,” she says in a voice so low that Bucky struggles to hear it.

Bucky clinks her glass with his own.  Nat tips her flute back, downing the entire glass in a handful of gulps.  Bucky takes a sip of his own before reaching for the bottle and refilling Nat’s glass.  As he does so, she stares hard at his face with a small, appreciative grin.

“Good boy,” she praises, not seeming to care if the other handful of patrons up here hear her.

Bucky blushes hard and puts the bottle back into the bucket, grabbing up his glass again to take a quick, nervous sip.

“So what is this?” Bucky asks after a beat.  “Some kind of a test run.”

Nat seems to consider that for a moment as she takes another drink.

“Is that what you want this to be?” she asks.

Bucky’s blush grows even warmer and he ducks his eyes.  But Black Widow seems to be waiting for an answer.

“I want…” Bucky begins uncertainly.  “I want this to not be the last time I see you.”

A waiter arrives with menus, but Nat waves them away.

“Just the usual,” she directs.  “And a gin martini, dirty, stirred, three olives.”  She turns to look at Bucky.  He thinks she’s about to ask him what he wants, but she doesn’t.  “And a Winter Grind.”

Once again, Bucky knows there’s a way he’s supposed to feel about Black Widow ordering for him.  He’s _supposed_ to feel indignant.  But he doesn’t.  He doesn’t feel that way at all.  Instead, he wishes so badly that he could touch her.  And as soon as that thought is in his head, it doesn’t go away, no matter how hard he wills it.  He tries to concentrate on the music as a distraction.

“What band is this?” he asks, taking another few gulps of champagne.

“Creatures of the Black Lagoon,” Nat replies.  “They’re from around here.”

“I like them,” Bucky says, and it’s the truth.

The waiter returns with their drinks.  Bucky takes a sip of the beer, cautious.  He’s never had Winter Grind before.  It’s _amazing_.  A semi-sweet, coffee stout, it’s creamy and delicious.

“Damn, this is good,” Bucky exclaims.

Nat just nods knowingly and watches the band on the stage.    The waiter brings out plates of food.  Hummus, fish tacos, edamame, and other finger food.  Bucky realizes suddenly how hungry he is.  He had been too nervous to eat earlier, stomach in knots.  But he waits patiently for Black Widow to fill up her plate first.  She gives him an apprising glance. 

“Go ahead,” she says, nodding.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Bucky replies, reaching for his plate.

The food is fucking delicious and Bucky inhales it all.  He finishes his beer and Nat waves down the waiter who comes back with shots of tequila.  Black Widow tips hers back like she’s drinking water, flipping her glass and dropping it onto the table.  Bucky follows suit, and he can tell immediately that the tequila is outrageously expensive.

With all the alcohol, Bucky feels like he’s in a haze.  Black Widow gets to her feet and holds out a hand.  Bucky swallows hard and takes it, climbing out of the cushioned seat. 

“Hope you like rock music,” she says with a cocked eyebrow.

Bucky grins, wide and slightly manic.  He’s warm, so warm.  Without a second thought, he peels off his jacket and drops it in the booth.  For a quick, terrifying moment he panics.  His v-neck is short sleeved, and his left arm is entirely exposed.  His hands flutter desperately, somewhere between diving for his coat and trying to half-heartedly cover up his arm.  But Black Widow reaches for him.  Her fingers close around his metal wrist.  It pulls his attention to her face and she reaches up with her other hand.  Her fingers brush along his cheek and the movement is so calming that Bucky freezes, mind muddled either by alcohol or arousal, maybe a bit of both.  She tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear calmly.

“That’s a good idea,” she says lightly.

Her hands fall away as she pulls off her own leather jacket and hands it to Bucky.  He can smell her perfume on her jacket.  It’s sharp and musky and Bucky wants to breathe it in forever.  But he can’t, because he’s distracted by the way Black Widow looks without her jacket.  Her exposed midriff is covered by the tight fishnet that runs all the way up to her throat.  She’s so gorgeous that Bucky can barely stand it.  He carefully folds her jacket and deposits it on top of his own without taking his eyes off of her.  She waits patiently.  The other people in the section are staring.  Bucky wonders if Black Widow even notices.

When Bucky straightens, Nat reaches for his left arm, hooking her own through it.  Her skin is warm and smells like her perfume.  Bucky leans in close, trying to memorize that scent.  It’s not like anything he’s smelled before and it’s nearly as intoxicating as the alcohol.  Black Widow’s fingers run up and down Bucky’s left arm.  Bucky still hasn’t gotten used to the odd sensation of his robotic arm.  He’s had it for almost two years and he still nearly jumps out of his skin when someone touches it.  Every sensation is amplified through the electro-neural connection.  Black Widow’s touch is feather light.  If Bucky could get goosebumps on his left arm, he would be getting them right now.

They get back to the first floor, and once again, the crowd seems to part for Black Widow.  She orders two beers at the bar, handing one to Bucky, before she begins to cut through the mass of people on the main floor.  Bucky’s drunk, and all he can concentrate on is the way people seem to jump out of Black Widow’s way when she walks.  He watches her face.  She keeps her narrowed eyes ahead.  In all honesty, she looks entirely unapproachable, the way she had looked when Bucky had first laid eyes on her at the munch.  She puts her left hand on the shoulder blades of the people in front of them.  When they turn and see the serious look on her face, they twist out of her way.  It’s fascinating to watch.

Nat keeps going until they are right in front of the stage, with the amplifiers so loud that Bucky can’t hear anything else.  There’s a grin on Nat’s face now and she begins banging her head along with the music.  She releases her hold on Bucky, sipping her beer as she begins to dance and twist with the music.  Bucky simply stares for a long, drunken moment.  But the music is catchy and everyone around him is dancing and moving.  It’s not long before his fourth drink is making him feel loose.

When the songs end, Nat screams and throws horns.  She presses in close to Bucky, asks what he thinks of the band with her lips brushing his ear.  Bucky shivers and tells her that he thinks they’re good.  The lights turn red and the next song begins. 

The music continues, and the more Bucky drinks, the further the bass seems to sink into his chest.  He’s caught up in the crowd, sweat rolling down his forehead and his back.  He hasn’t been to a concert in _years_ , but he used to love them.  He cheers and hollers and gets caught up in the moment. 

A bouncer comes by, shakes Nat’s hand, leans in to talk in her ear.  Nat hands him her empty beer glass, which he takes without question.  Bucky is still sipping his.  With her hands free, Nat truly begins to dance along to the music.  She leans over the gate and puts up her horns.  With every song, Bucky feels himself falling deeper and deeper. 

Nat turns, face blushed, hair a mess, and she’s even more beautiful than before.  Her normally perfectly composed demeanor seems to have slipped, just a bit.  She loops an arm around Bucky’s waist and pulls him close.

“Can I touch you?” Bucky asks in a shaking voice.

Black Widow smiles wider and nods.  Bucky lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and puts his right hand on Black Widow’s waist.  She takes the beer glass from his hand, depositing it somewhere over the gate, and steps in closer.  She moves like a trained dancer, twisting against Bucky’s hip as he cautiously brings his metal hand to the small of her back.  She doesn’t jump from the cool temperature of his digits.  In fact, Nat moves in even closer.

Bucky doesn’t dance often, but he knows he’s good at it.  He used to love to dance.  But much like attending concerts, it’s something he hasn’t done for a long time.  He falls into it easily and Nat’s head drops back, exposing the perfect column of her neck.  She reaches up and pulls the elastic from Bucky’s hair, runs her fingers through it.  It’s all more than Bucky can handle.  Every sensation blends together into a warm, comfortable hum. 

As the song ends, someone drunkenly steps into their space, putting a hand on Bucky’s metal forearm.  Immediately, Bucky goes rigid, yanking his arm out of this person’s grip and folding it in close to his chest.

“That’s crazy man!” the guy shouts, breath smelling like whiskey.  “Can you feel this?”

The guy pokes Bucky’s arm again.  Panic flares in Bucky’s stomach.

“How’d you lose it?” the guy slurs stupidly, getting even closer to Bucky.  Bucky tries to back up, to escape, but he bumps into someone behind him and something cold sloshes against his shirt.  The person behind him begins to yell angrily.

It’s too much, it’s all too much.  The noise, the bodies pressing in on him, the heat.  The world around his shivers and splinters.  A memory is forcing its way into Bucky’s mind, enveloping him.

Black Widow shoulders past Bucky, making him flinch.

“Get out of here!” she snaps at the drunken stranger.

“We have to get out of here!” Sam shouts in Bucky’s ear. 

Bucky gasps, struggling to breath.  He looks down at his left arm.  It’s no longer an arm, instead it’s a bloodied, mangled stump.  A bullet pierces his shoulder.  Bucky doubles over, screaming as more bullets rip through his back.  He reaches for his weapon but finds it’s missing.  Somebody is shouting his name.  There are hands on him.  Masked faces shouting in a language he doesn’t understand press in on every side.

“James!”

“No!” Bucky screams, shoving away the hands on him.

He knows what’s going to happen.  He knows where the strangers are going to take him, what they’re going to do to him.  Pain, so much pain.

“James!”

He struggles desperately against the strong arms that are on him.  He’s being hauled away.  He fights, striking with his remaining arm, searching again for his pistol.  It isn’t there.  He flails desperately.  To his left, there’s movement.  Bucky looks over to see Sam being manhandled.  Sam struggles and fights furiously.  One of the masked men pulls a pistol, presses it to Sam’s temple and pulls the trigger.  Something warm splashes across Bucky’s face and he realizes that it’s Sam’s blood.

“NO!” Bucky screams, shoving away the hands on him again.  His knees hit the ground but someone is yanking him back up onto his feet.

“James!”

Green eyes stare into his own.  They’re serious, full of concern, but they aren’t angry.  Sam is dead and Bucky is going to be next.  But that’s not true, because Bucky doesn’t die.  His fate is far worse.  Bucky looks back down at what remains of his left arm.  He’s losing blood, he knows he’s bleeding badly, he won’t stay conscious for long.  But the bloody mess is gone, instead replaced by shimmering metal.  He looks back up at the green eyes, confused.

Someone is dragging him down a set of stairs.  Fear and confusion make Bucky dizzy.  His feet stumble uselessly.  Where is he?  What is happening?

The cold night air is like a shock of electricity. 

“You’re okay.  It’s okay,” someone is saying in a soothing voice.

Hands maneuver him into a chair.  They fret over him, searching him for wounds. 

“My back, I was shot in the back,” Bucky gasps as his lungs fill with blood.

“You weren’t shot, James.  You’re at a concert.  We’re in Colorado.  You’re safe.”

Bucky shakes his head, the words not making sense.

“Type A positive,” he tries to explain.  “You have to help Sam!  Please!”

“It’s Natasha, James.  I’m Natasha.  You haven’t been shot.”

More voices.  People pressing in on all sides.  Someone is shooing them away angrily. 

“Don’t let them take me,” Bucky pleads weakly, collapsing in on himself.  He’s so confused.  He stares at his boots.  They’re covered in blood, then Bucky blinks and they’re clean.

Finger brush gently along his cheek.  Bucky blinks again and looks up to find a pair of wide, green eyes. 

“Nobody’s gonna take you.  You’re safe.”

Bucky blinks as the memories dissipate like smoke.  Reality comes crashing down around him, crushing him.  He’s at a concert.  He’s on a date.

Fuck.

Oh fuck.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Bucky moans, dropping his face into his hands.  He’s not going to cry, not here, not now.  There’s a hand in his hair, petting him carefully.

“We’re fine, go away,” Natasha snaps at someone.

Natasha.  Black Widow.  Oh fuck. 

“I’m having a panic attack,” Bucky manages to stutter out in a broken breath.

“I know,” Nat says calmly.  “It’s okay.  You’re okay.”

Bucky reaches for his left arm.  He finds cold metal.  It almost breaks him.  He takes another shuddering breath.

“Hey, look at me,” Black Widow demands.

Bucky grits his teeth and forces himself to look up.  He expects to find pity.  He’s so clearly pathetic and broken.  He barely knows where he is.  But instead he finds a clinical stare.  Nat pushes Bucky’s sweat soaked hair out of his eyes.  Bucky folds in on himself, dropping his head.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he mutters.  “I’m so so sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m not mad,” Nat reassures him in a firm voice.  “Look at me.”

Again, Bucky dares a glance upwards.

“Breath with me, alright?” Black Widow commands.  She takes a long deliberate breath through her nose, nodding slowly.  She holds it, waiting for Bucky to do the same.  After a long moment, Bucky follows suit.  Black Widow lets her breath out slowly through her mouth.  Bucky does the same.  “One,” Black Widow says.  She does the same again, breathing through her nose, and out her mouth.  “Two,” she says once Bucky has mimicked her.

In and out, slow deep breaths.  Black Widow keeps going until they reach twenty.  Bucky can feel his heart rate slowing.  He breathes out the fear like a toxin, exorcising it from his body.  He keeps his eyes on Nat’s.  Her fingers run gently through his hair, rub his back, squeeze his shoulder reassuringly.

“This isn’t how I wanted the night to go,” Bucky admits brokenly, finally tearing his eyes away to look around them.  There’s people all around, their worried or suspicious stares boring into Bucky’s skin.  “I ruined everything.”

“No you didn’t,” Nat replies immediately.  Her fingers catch his chin and force Bucky to look at her again.  “You didn’t ruin anything.  I’m not mad.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not gonna want to go anywhere with me again,” Bucky retorts bitterly.

“That’s not true,” Nat says forcefully.  “I’ve had a great night.  There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Bucky drops his gaze to his shoes, wishing that was true.

“Hey,” Nat whispers.  Bucky glances up at her.  “I was about to punch that guy for touching you like that.”

That makes Bucky smile a small smile.  He tries to laugh, but it comes out rough and broken.

“I would have happily been kicked out of this place forever if it meant getting to knock that asshole out,” she continues, smiling.

Nat presses against him, reaches for his hands.  She grips them both tightly until Bucky returns the motion, squeezing her hands in his.  She runs her fingers along his arms, up across his shoulders, to his face, wiping sweat and hair away.

“You’ve done this before,” Bucky observes ruefully.

Nat smiles at him.

“You learn pretty quickly from experience what helps during a panic attack,” she says.

Bucky couldn’t imagine Black Widow having a panic attack, but that’s what she’s saying. 

“It’s okay,” Nat reassures him again.

Bucky swallows hard and nods.

“Let’s get out of here,” she suggests. 

“Okay.”

Bucky doesn’t know where they are, but they’re outside.  Nat tells him to stay where he is, and she gets to her feet and goes to a bouncer near the door.  Bucky glances around.  There are several people smoking cigarettes on the small patio.  They stare at Bucky judgmentally.  He draws his arms in tight, suddenly cold.  Nat returns, throwing an arm around his shoulders and rubbing his back again.  A minute later, the bouncer returns with their coats.  Nat takes them from his hands and immediately holds Bucky’s jacket open.

Bucky pulls his coat on, mind already swirling downwards.  He screwed up.  He always screws up.  Black Widow is just being nice.  She’s going to take him to his house and then make her escape.  It’d be the smart thing to do.  Bucky’s a liability.  She’s going to drive off in her nice car back to her nice house and tell everyone there how terrible this date went.  She’s never going to talk to Bucky again.  Three strikes, Bucky is out.  He’s had three chances and he’s ruined them all.

“Come on,” Black Widow says, helping Bucky to his feet.

He’s grateful that they don’t go back inside, back into the heat and the crowd and the noise.  Instead, they loop around the church to the parking lot.  Black Widow keeps her arm looped through Bucky’s arm, driving him forward on suddenly exhausted legs.  He’s so incredibly tired.  He wants to get into bed and never get out.  Black Widow opens the passenger door and helps Bucky in.  God, he’s pathetic.

The car roars to life.  Black Widow turns on light, quiet music, something electronic and soothing.  Bucky wants to curl into a ball.  He wants to hide from the world.  He wants to go to sleep and never wake up. 

Bucky doesn’t pay attention to where the car is going, so he’s surprised when it comes to a stop and Bucky looks up to find the mansion.

“You’re not taking me home?” he asks, confused.

Black Widow turns in her seat to look at him, waiting until he meets her eyes.

“I’m not letting you be alone tonight,” she says firmly.  “We can go to your house if you want, or we can go inside and go to bed.”

Bucky is confused.  His head is pounding.  He furrows his brow.

“Go to bed?” he repeats on numb lips.

“Yeah,” Black Widow replies.  “Come on.”

She climbs out of the car and comes around to the passenger side, pulling open the door and holding out a hand.  She’s babying Bucky, and he should feel ashamed.  He does feel ashamed.  Ashamed that it feels so good.  She’s taking care of him.  She’s thinking for him, making decisions for him, taking the burden off of him, and all he wants to do and curl up in her surprisingly strong arms.  He’s pathetic but he lets Nat pull him from the car and lead him inside.

The house looks so different without the crowds of people and the low lighting.  It’s dark inside.  Bucky realizes that it must be rather late.  Black Widow stops in the kitchen, pulling a few things from the fridge.  Bucky leans against the counter as he waits for her.  Somebody appears in the doorway of the kitchen.  Bucky turns to find the thin, dark haired man that had been comforting Hawkeye at the party. 

“Ma’am,” the man says in a proper British accent.

Black Widow turns and smiles.

“Jarvis,” she sighs.  “You remember James, yes?” 

“Of course,” the man replies, looking at Bucky with a bright smile.  He holds out a hand that Bucky takes.  “Jarvis.  I don’t think we properly met last weekend.”

His handshake is quick and proper. 

“I’m going up to my bedroom.  Bring us some tea, will you?” Black Widow says.

“It’d be my pleasure, ma’am.”

Nat picks up two water bottles and comes back to Bucky’s side, putting a hand at the small of his back.

“What kind of tea would you like, James?” Jarvis asks.

“Uhm,” Bucky mutters.

“Earl grey is fine, thank you, Jarvis,” Nat interjects.  “Come on.”

She leads Bucky up a back staircase to a set of rooms that he wasn’t shown in the tour last weekend.  They walk along the plush carpet, Black Widow’s footfalls not making a sound.  At the end of the hall, Black Widow opens a door to reveal a large, beautifully decorated room, complete with a fireplace burning brightly.  There’s quiet, classical music playing and the entire room smells like pine.  Nat pushes back the crimson hangings around her bed and leads Bucky down until he is sitting.  Once again, a body appears in the doorway.  This time, it’s Hawkeye, in a pair of sleep pants.

Black Widow brushes her fingers gently along Bucky’s cheek before straightening. 

“Clint,” she says softly.  Hawkeye puts his hands behind his back at the sound of what Bucky assumes is his real name.  “Bring me some pajamas for James, and then run a hot bath.  Tea tree oil and lavender.”

Clint nods sharply and moves immediately, turning and disappearing into the dark.  Bucky watches him go.  Black Widow opens one of the bottles of water and holds it out to Bucky.

“Drink,” she commands.

Bucky does as he’s told, swallowing down the cold water.  He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was.  He drinks more than half the bottle in one go.  Clint returns with some clothes in his arms, which he places on the bed next to Bucky before moving across the room and opening a door that leads to a master bathroom.  Bucky can hear the water of the tub turn on.

“How are you feeling?” Black Widow asks, drawing Bucky’s attention to her.

Bucky nods vaguely.

“I’m feeling…better,” he replies, voice slightly slurred.  “Tired.”

It’s so easy to let go.  It’s so easy to let Black Widow take care of him.  He’s so, so tired, it’s getting hard to care, even harder to continue chastising himself in his own head.  In Black Widow’s hands, he doesn’t have to think.  He doesn’t have to examine.  He doesn’t have to remember.  Clint reappears in the bedroom.  Black Widow sits down on the bed beside Bucky and motions Clint over.  The man approaches and goes to his knees, reaching for a foot that Black Widow is holding out to him.  He unlaces her heels and pulls them off before moving to Bucky’s shoes.  It’s odd, having this other man untying his combat boots and working them off, but Bucky doesn’t question it because somehow, his palm is laid open in Black Widow’s lap and she’s drawing careful patterns in it with her nail.

Clint disappears again and Black Widow gets to her feet, stretching and yawning before holding out a hand and hauling Bucky to his feet.  She leads him into the bathroom.  Every surface is immaculate marble.  A claw foot tub full of steaming water and smelling like lavender sits in the middle of the room.  Black Widow shows him the towel that is folded neatly on the counter before leaving Bucky on his own.

Bucky glances ruefully at his own reflection as he peels off his clothes.  He can’t stand to look at his metal arm once it’s revealed, so he looks away.  He gets undressed and lowers himself into the wonderfully warm water. 

Bucky nearly falls asleep in the tub.  It’s so warm and sweet smelling, he feels himself nodding off.  He jumps when there’s a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” Bucky says, voice breaking.

The door opens to reveal Black Widow, looking as mind numbingly gorgeous as ever.  She wears a tank top and sleep shorts with a red silk robe.  In one arm she holds the clothes Clint had brought for Bucky.  In the other, she holds a lit joint.

She comes in and shuts the door behind her.  Bucky should care that he’s naked, but he can’t bring himself to.  Nat comes around to the side of the tub, kneeling down and taking a long draw off the joint before holding it out to Bucky.  Bucky takes it gratefully.  As he takes a hit, Nat reaches for a sponge, dipping it into the soapy water and bringing it to Bucky’s exposed back.  Bucky coughs as he breathes out, holding the joint out to Nat.  She shakes her head.

“You can finish it.”

Bucky being lulled into a comfortable numbness.  Black Widow washes his back carefully, and he doesn’t even care.  In this light, he knows she must see the scars.  The thickened flesh where the bullets had ripped through his body.  The angry red spots where the staph infection and the maggots had eaten into his skin.  The jagged synthetic connective tissue beneath his skin that anchors his heavy metal arm to his spine.  Bucky hangs his head and takes another hit from the joint.  He waits for her to ask questions.  Hell, she deserves some answers after what Bucky put her through tonight.  But they don’t come.  Black Widow doesn’t speak.  She drops the sponge and begins to work her fingers into the muscles of his back.  Bucky winces, not realizing how many knots he has, but Black Widow seems to be finding every single one.

Black Widow’s hands leave Bucky’s body as she reaches for shampoo.  The stuff smells like cedar and she works it through Bucky’s hair carefully, washing it away with a porcelain cup and replacing it with conditioner.  Bucky hands the joint to Nat and dunks his head under the water, washing out the conditioner.  When he comes back up, she blows out smoke and hands the joint back to him.  As Nat straightens, she grabs the side of his head gently and pulls him towards her, kissing his forehead.

“Finish that,” she directs, nodding at the joint.  “And then come to bed.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

Bucky hadn’t meant to say that out loud.  He bites his lip, wincing at his own needy voice.  For a long, silent moment, Nat doesn’t respond.  Then her wet fingers find Bucky’s chin and force him to look at her.

“Because you’re worth being nice to,” she says earnestly.

Bucky winces again.  He waits until the door has shut behind Nat to start crying.  He drops his face into his hands, shuddering.  With shaking fingers, he finishes the joint, flicking it into the water and wiping the fat tears from his cheeks.  Bucky’s thoughts are slow to form and harder to follow.  The marijuana is making him feel heavy.  He stands up out of the tub, willing himself to stop crying.  He pulls the stopper and steps out, grabbing up the plush, red towel on the counter.  Once he’s sufficiently dry, he pulls on the pajamas he’s been provided, surprised when he finds a new toothbrush and toothpaste folded into the pants.  He’s suddenly grateful for that, realizing that he can still taste the alcohol from earlier.  He brushes his teeth quickly and heads back towards the bedroom.

Black Widow lays against a pile of pillows on her massive California king bed, a tray in her lap with two steaming mugs.  When she sees Bucky, she pats the spot next to her.  Bucky moves slowly, cautiously getting into the bed.  The down blanket it soft and fluffy and smells clean.  He leaves space between himself and Black Widow, but she closes it immediately, handing Bucky one of the mugs, taking the other for herself and tossing the tray clattering to the floor.  The tea is hot and has lemon and honey in it.  It’s surprisingly comforting.  They sip their tea in silence for a long moment as the classical music plays quietly nearby.  Black Widow’s hand is on Bucky again.  He wonders if she’s doing it on purpose, keeping Bucky’s attention on her.  He’s not going to complain, he’d much rather pay attention to Black Widow than to the toxic thoughts threatening to break free in his mind.  It doesn’t take long for him to finish the tea, and Black Widow takes the mug from him, setting both on a bedside table.  Before he knows what’s happening, she’s maneuvered them so that she holds Bucky’s head against her chest.  Her fingers are in his wet hair again.  Bucky breathes in the intoxicating scent of her skin. 

This is _not_ how he imagined the night going.

“I’m sorry I ruined the concert,” Bucky apologizes softly.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Black Widow replies, her voice humming in her chest.  Bucky counts her heartbeats.  “You don’t have to apologize,” she continues.  “Not to me.”

The classical music is still playing quietly.  The fire crackles across the room.  Nat’s heart beats slow and steady as her chest rises and falls.  Bucky is heavy and exhausted.  As he drifts to sleep, he hears someone move into the room and pull the bed hangings shut.  Nat’s body is warm and soft and sweet smelling.  Bucky sighs.

“Goodnight, James,” Black Widow whispers.

Bucky swallows, his mouth dry and clean tasting.

“You can call me Bucky,” he slurs sleepily.  “It’s what my friends call me.”

Black Widow is quiet for a long moment.  Bucky thinks she might have fallen asleep.  He’s close himself.  He can feel sleep pressing in on his brain, dragging him into a warm, comfortable darkness.  Black Widow’s chest rises and falls.  The last thing Bucky remembers before he gives himself over to sleep is her voice purring in her chest.

“Goodnight, Bucky.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, I can't believe this already has 100 kudos. I'm so happy people are enjoying the story cuz I am so loving writing it. Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and I've got some great fanart that's inspiring me, so I'll continue to post that when applicable. Next chapter will be coming soon, cuz I seriously love writing this.


	6. Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: smutty smutty smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God, who saw that fucking Infinity War trailer!!! I am so freaking excited, how about you guys? Bucky Barnes got a brand new arm with no red star, I'm so happy for him!

When Bucky wakes up, it’s to a sudden burst of bright light.  Red curtains are shoved back and the early morning sun assaults Bucky.  He’s confused, he doesn’t know where he is, and he wakes from a dreamless sleep warm and so incredibly comfortable.  He can smell bacon and coffee.  There’s a warm, soft body beside him.  Memories come back slowly.  The concert.  The panic attack.  Falling asleep against Black Widow’s chest.  Bucky opens his eyes.

“Good morning!” Jarvis says brightly, a tray of food in his hands.

Beside Bucky, Black Widow stretches, her joints popping.  She sits upright in the bed and smiles sleepily at Jarvis. 

“I took the liberty of laundering James’ clothing,” Jarvis reports, far too chipper for how early it must be.  The man puts the tray down on the bed.  “I put them in your closet, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Black Widow says, scratching a spot on her chest.  “You’re dismissed.” 

Jarvis nods and turns quickly, closing the door behind him as he retreats from the room.  Bucky eyes the tray of food, suddenly ravenous.

“Breakfast in bed,” Bucky says, mouth watering.  “That’s nice.”

Black Widow nods and grabs the tray, bringing it into the space between them.

“Jarvis loves morning duty,” Black Widow replies, as if Bucky knows what that means.  “He’s an excellent chef.”

Black Widow picks up one of the two plates and begins to eat.  Bucky waits for her to nod at him before he takes the other plate.

Nat wasn’t kidding, the food is awesome.  A breakfast quiche with a buttery, crumbling crust, bacon, fruit, bloody maries, and coffee.  Bucky uses the neatly set out cream and sugar and takes a sip. The coffee is fresh and delicious.  Overseas, Bucky had gained an acute appreciation for fresh coffee.  He drinks down half his mug and refills it from the press on the tray.  Nat reaches for her own mug, drinking it down black.

“Do you need me to take you home by a certain time?” Black Widow asks.

Bucky shakes his head.

“I don’t work weekends,” he replies.  Then he remembers his phone.  “Shit, I didn’t charge my phone.”

“Hawkeye should have taken care of it,” Black Widow shrugs casually.  She nods at the nightstand on Bucky’s side.  He turns to see his phone, plugged in to the wall.

“Oh,” Bucky sputters dumbly, taking another sip of coffee as he grabs his fully charged phone up.  He’s got a half a dozen messages from Jess waiting for him.

_Hows the date going?_

_Dude, how is the date going?_

_Mother fucker, answer me!_

_Did she murder you?  Am I gonna need to call the police?  She murdered you didn’t she_

_Ok seriously, I’m actually worried._

_Bucky!  I can’t tell if your silence is a good thing or a bad thing._

Bucky ducks his head and quickly types out a response.

_Jess, chill.  I’m fine._

He puts his phone down and reaches for the bloody mary.

“God, this is good,” he can’t help but exclaim.  He usually doesn’t like bloody maries, but good lord, this one is good.  

Black Widow nods, pushing herself out of bed.  She snatches her own bloody mary off the tray before walking across the room towards a door.  She throws it open and Bucky catches a glimpse of an enormous walk-in closet.  Bucky sips his bloody mary as his phone lights up in his lap.

_Well?  Howd it go?!?!?!?!?!?!?!_

Bucky sighs, setting his drink down.

_It was_

He pauses.  How can he possibly explain the night before?  He can’t really say it was a good night after having a panic attack and having to cut it short.  But, Bucky actually _feels_ good.   He never feels good, especially the morning after a panic attack that bad.  He should be freaked out, spread thin, filled with pent up energy and self-loathing.  But instead, he feels entirely at ease. 

_It was good._

Jess’s reply comes immediately.

_OMG you got laid, didn’t you you dirty dog? ;)_

Bucky rolls his eyes and drops the phone back on the nightstand.  The closet door swings open again and Bucky turns to find Nat dressed again in all black.  Yoga pants, a crop top, fingerless gloves, toed socks, her hair in a messy ponytail. 

“Yoga starts in fifteen minutes,” she reports.  “You do yoga?”

Bucky laughs.  No, he doesn’t do yoga.  The gym offers yoga, but Bucky has never partaken.  He shakes his head.

“Well, you’re doing yoga today,” Black Widow says matter-of-factly.  She pulls her phone from her waistband, typing something in quickly before moving back to the bed.  She refills her coffee and takes the mug with her when she heads to the bathroom.

Bucky stays in the bed, finishing his food and drinks.  He nearly jumps out of his skin with the bedroom door swings open and Clint comes in wearing nothing but a pair of shorts.  Bucky balks, suddenly feeling awkward.  Nat is Clint’s girlfriend.  Or Dom.  Or _something._ And here Bucky is in her bed.  Clint pads over to Bucky, dropping some clothes on the bed.

“How you doing, man?” Clint asks in a low voice. 

“F-fine,” Bucky stutters.

“You doing yoga?”

“I, uhm, I guess so,” Bucky replies, poking through the clothing Clint’s put on the bed.  It’s a tank top, a pair of tight pants, fingerless gloves, and toed socks.  Bucky holds up one of the socks, finding the bottom has a grip. 

“Yoga socks,” Clint explains with a shrug.  “Headmistress said you didn’t have anything.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t really expecting to do yoga.”

Clint laughs at that. 

“Well, happy to solve your yoga emergency, man,” Clint says brightly, turning to leave.

Bucky finally, reluctantly, climbs out of the warm comfortable bed.  He would have been happy to curl up in the soft covers and stay there all day.  But apparently, he’s going to do some yoga.  He changes quickly into the awkwardly tight pants.  Before he can get the shirt on, Black Widow emerges from the bathroom.  She approaches him, smiling.  Her hand lands in the middle of his bare chest and Bucky goes still.

“You look good,” she says lightly.  “Forget the shirt.”

She snatches the shirt from Bucky’s hands, making it clear that that’s an order.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky replies.

Black Widow drops the shirt on the ground and turns to stalk out of the room.  Bucky grabs his phone and follows.

Downstairs, there’s a flurry of activity.  Bucky paws at his left arm nervously as they come down the grand stair case into the main room full of people.  Bucky sees Tony, Bruce, Alias, Cage, their blonde friend, Jarvis, and Scott.  Everyone is in various stages of undress, including Alias who is entirely naked.  She makes a kissy face when she notices Bucky staring.  At the front of the room is the ruby haired woman whose fetlife handle is the_Scarlet_Bitch.  She stretches quietly on a rolled out yoga mat as the others unfurl their own mats.  As soon as Tony catches glimpse of Bucky, he makes a beeline towards him.

“Good night?” Tony asks with a wink.

“It was…interesting,” Bucky replies weakly.

“Nights with Black Widow usually are,” Tony says, elbowing Bucky in the side and raising his eyebrows.

Bucky sees Tony’s eyes moving up and down his left arm.  Bucky grabs his arm nervously, trying to turn his body to block Tony’s view.  Tony leans in close to Bucky.

“I know I’m not supposed to ask,” Tony says in a low voice.  “But I _have_ to get a look at that later.  Nothing weird, I just own the company that made it.”

Bucky’s eyes widen.

“What?!” he gasps.

“Yeah, a little honest feedback would be appreciated.  You know, gotta keep the investments strong,” Tony explains with a shrug turning away.

Bucky has to process all the information he was just given.  Pieces are suddenly falling into place.  The mansion, the car, the clear excess of money, the name.  Tony.  Holy shit, this is Tony Stark.  Bucky knows that name, he’s heard it on the news, seen it on the cover of magazines under pictures of Tony’s face.  How had he not realized it before?

“You’re Tony Stark?” Bucky cries.

Tony looks back at Bucky and chuckles.

“That’s me!” Tony replies, holding his hands under his chin cutely. 

Tony Stark.  Eccentric billionaire, Tony Stark.  Inventor.  Philanthropist.  Genius of this generation.  Nobel Prize Awardee.  Bucky never really cared for tabloids or celebrities.  He never had the luxury of caring.  But he’s definitely heard the name.  He heard it dozens of times when he was in the hospital.  _You can thank Tony Stark for the arm_.  Bucky had been chosen.  One of three candidates for an experimental procedure.  _Prosthetic of the future, design input from Tony Stark himself.  A better alternative to a hook, don’t you think?_  Bucky hadn’t cared at the time.  He had much more pressing matters poisoning his thoughts.  _It’s a blind study, but if this works out, Tony Stark is ready to give these limbs to every vet that needs them._  

And here Tony Stark is, standing in front of Bucky, eyeing Bucky’s arm with an overly interested gaze.  Hell, Bucky is standing inside Tony Stark’s fucking mansion, most likely.  What are the fucking odds? 

“Ah shit, the witch is about to start,” Tony says, turning and hurrying away to a bright red yoga mat at the front of the room.

Black Widow appears suddenly at Bucky’s side.

“That’s Tony Stark,” Bucky whispers, eyes still bulging.

Black Widow chuckles.

“Wait.”  Bucky pauses, remembering something Tony had said.  “Did you tell them not to ask about my arm?”

“I did,” Black Widow replies.

“They can ask, it’s fine,” Bucky mutters, eyes going to his hands.

 “No, they can’t.  Because I said so,” Black Widow says firmly.  She doesn’t wait for Bucky to reply, instead brushing past him and going to a black mat in the middle of the room. 

Clint comes by with a rolled mat under his arm.

“Come on, man, you can come be by me,” Clint says, offering Bucky the mat.  “Wanda’s great with first timers, you don’t have to worry.  No judgement here.”

Yoga turns out to be frustrating.  Bucky’s mind is far too full, racing between thoughts of Black Widows and awe over the fact that he’s casually known Tony Stark for over a week now.  The woman named Wanda has a soothing voice as she leads the class through breathing exercises.  She plays gentle, meditation music and lights incense.  They move into seated twists and then into sun salutations.  Wanda’s soft voice talking everyone through every move, even though everyone knows every move.  Everyone but Bucky.  And Bucky definitely is _not_ flexible, especially on his left side.  His arm has been so tightly anchored on his spine and his sternum that there isn’t exactly much breathing room. 

“It’s not about doing it perfectly,” Clint says quietly at one point, noticing Bucky’s frustration.  “It’s just about stretching until it feels good.”

That’s not going to work for Bucky.  He’s always been overly competitive and a bit of a perfectionist.  And he can’t stop looking at Black Widow.  She folds her body into impossible shapes, moving fluidly, beautifully.  Meanwhile, Bucky’s left arm whines mechanically when he tries to bend it backwards.  Wanda takes notice of him, which really only makes Bucky feel worse.  But her hands are soft and her voice is even softer.

“Keep your stomach pulled in,” Wanda says in a heavy accent, pressing up on Bucky’s abs as he’s bent over forward.  “Abs tight, breathe through your nose.  Concentrate on the breathing.”

It’s a frankly exhausting affair, and Bucky is relieved when it seems like they’re going to be done.  At the end, they lay on their backs on the mats.

“Quiet mind, quiet body,” Wanda says from the front as she turns the music up a bit.

Bucky likes this pose.  It reminds him of a sergeant he had in his first unit.  “The five point stargazer,” Sergeant Lewis had jokingly called it when substituting it in for a real, doctrine exercise.  Bucky has to admit, it’s relaxing, laying here, as the scent of the incense wafts through the room and the music nearly lulls him to sleep. 

“I don’t think I’m very good at yoga,” Bucky admits once everyone is rolling up their mats.

“Takes some getting used to,” Clint shrugs.  “But eventually you’ll start to enjoy it.”

There’s a look in Clint’s eyes, an implication in his words that doesn’t go past Bucky.  A suggestion at a sort of permanence of Bucky’s presence.  The assumption that he’ll be around long enough to start to enjoy yoga.  But before Bucky can comment on that, Clint is already speaking again.

“Help out cleaning up, yeah?” Clint asks, head cocked.

“Oh, uhm, sure,” Bucky mumbles.

Clint nods and bends down to roll up his mat.  Bucky looks around.  Black Widow, Alias, Cage, Wanda, and Bruce wander away immediately, leaving Tony, Scott, Clint, Jarvis, and the blonde guy wiping down mats and rolling them up.  Clint hands Bucky a wet wipe and Bucky wipes down his mat, keeping his eye on Black Widow.  She grins happily, moving towards Wanda at the other end of the room.  Black Widow loops an arm around Wanda’s waist and yanks her in for a kiss.  Wanda smiles and kisses Nat back.  Bucky blushes and drops his gaze to his mat.

“Your guys’ life is…kinda crazy,” Bucky mutters, glancing over at Clint.

Clint pauses, seeming to ponder the statement for a long moment before laughing.

“Yeah, I guess it might look that way,” Clint shrugs, moving to the next mat.

Bucky follows suit, eyeing the silver metal loop around Clint’s neck.  There’s a small tag on it, but whatever is written on it faces Clint’s skin and Bucky can’t read it.

“So you’re Black Widow’s…submissive?” Bucky asks uncertainly.

Clint nods, a small, self-satisfied grin on his face.

“Uhm, how long?” Bucky follows up awkwardly.  “Like how long have you guys…been together?”

Clint cocks his head, wiping down another mat.

“It’s been about three years now, I think,” he answers.

“And Jarvis is her submissive as well?”

“No, he belongs to Wanda,” Clint replies, shaking his head.  Bucky swallows hard at the way Clint says the word ‘belong.’  “But he’s a service sub so he’s like the main house slave.  Headmistress helped train him though.”

“And you guys just all live here?”

Clint nods pleasantly, rolling up another mat.

“Who does the house belong to?” Bucky asks.

“The house is in Natasha and Tony’s name.  Tony’s got a bunch of houses.  He’s only in Denver for like six months out of the year.  But he and Natasha go way back.  She used to work for his company.  He was her sub for a little while, until he met Dr. Banner.”

“Are you guys like all millionaires or something?”

Clint chuckles at that.

“No,” he answers simply.  “Danny’s got a lot of money,” he says, nodding at the blonde man nearby.  “Tony is…Tony.  Bruce is a doctor.  But the rest of us are just average joes.  Jarvis used to work for Tony’s father.  Wanda owns a Wiccan store downtown.  Jessica’s a PI and Luke, her husband, works in private security.  Scott works at Baskin Robbins.  And I work for Tony now, R&D in his weapons department.”

“What about Black Widow?”

“These days, she does Pro-Dom.”

Bucky furrows his brow.

“Like…a professional dominatrix?” Bucky clarifies.

Clint shrugs.

“Something like that,” he replies, straightening with several mats in his arms. 

Bucky grabs up a couple mats as well, turning to follow Clint.  When he turns, he sees Black Widow across the room, watching him with narrowed eyes and a small grin.  Bucky ducks his gaze, blushing as he follows Clint to a closet, depositing the mats in a pile inside.

“Good talking to you, man,” Clint says lightly as he turns to walk towards the kitchen.

Bucky flails awkwardly for a moment, unsure what to do now.  But when he turns, he sees Black Widow walking towards him.  Her stare is dissecting and clinical, looking Bucky up and down.  She moves into Bucky’s personal space, crowding him against the closet door.  Her eyes continue to rove his skin and Bucky holds his breath, unsure what to expect.

“Come with me,” Black Widow says, turning on her heel immediately. 

Bucky does as he’s told, following Black Widow as she moves across the room towards the stairs.  She leads him upstairs, back into her bedroom.  As soon as the door is shut behind Bucky, Black Widow turns on him, pinning him again against the door.

“Having fun?” she asks in a low voice.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky breathes, nodding frantically. 

Black Widow smiles, stepping in even closer to Bucky.  Her palms come to rest against his chest softly. 

“Tell me, what were you expecting last night?” she presses, voice a low purr.

“I didn’t have any expectations,” Bucky replies cautiously.

“Oh, come on.  You had to have expected something.  You must want something from me.”

“I just want to serve you, ma’am,” Bucky breathes, a shiver running down his spine.

“Hmm,” Black Widow says, hands sliding up Bucky’s skin.  Her eyes move to Bucky’s lips, then to his collarbone.  He feels her fingers brush along the nexus of his left arm and his shoulder.  He jumps at the touch, but her fingers are already moving along his throat.  “Good answer.”

Bucky swallows hard.  Black Widow is so close to him now.  He can feel the heat radiating off her body, can smell the scent of her skin.  It’s intoxicating.

“Do you want to kiss me, Bucky?” Black Widow asks, green eyes flashing.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky whispers, voice barely audible.

Black Widow’s hands move quickly, reaching down to grab Bucky’s wrists.  With surprising strength, she shoves his arms upwards and pins his wrists to the door above Bucky’s head.  Bucky gasps at the swiftness of the motion, but he barely has a chance to take another breath before Black Widow’s body is plastered along his.  Her knee bends, pressing hard against Bucky’s groin as she moves forward and plants a gentle kiss against his surprised lips.  It’s quick and it’s soft and she pulls away before Bucky can even react.  He gasps and leans forward, chasing her touch, but she twists out of his reach.  She rolls her knee and Bucky can feel himself quickly growing hard against the pressure.  He’s pinned fully against the door.  Every few seconds, he forgets that he’s being held there and tries to reach for Black Widow with his hands, but she simply presses his wrists against the door even harder every time.

“Say you’ll worship me,” Black Widow demands, voice a sharp command.

Bucky nods frantically, mouth suddenly so dry.

“Say it.”

“I’ll worship you.  It’s all I want.  Every day for as long as you’ll let me,” Bucky says in a rushed whisper.

Black Widow cocks her head, eyes flashing dangerously. Bucky thinks she’s going to say something, but she doesn’t.  Instead, she leans forward again, grabbing Bucky in an honest kiss.  Her mouth is warm and soft, her lips taste like cherry and her tongue presses into Bucky’s mouth.  It’s a filthy, dominating kiss and Bucky yields his lips.  When Black Widow pulls away, she bites Bucky’s lip, hard.  Bucky barely has time to take a breath before she steps away, releasing him.

“Get on your knees,” she snaps.

Bucky obeys immediately, dropping to his knees without a second thought.  Black Widow stares down at him, hands on her hips.  Bucky feels warm, so fucking warm.  His cock is almost painfully hard now, but he can barely care.  The only thought that he can comprehend is that this is where he wants to spend the rest of his life, on his knees in front of this woman.  He can barely process that this is actually happening, his mind far too muddled for coherent thought.  Black Widow turns and moves across the room towards an armchair.  She stops beside it but doesn’t sit down.

“Come here,” she commands.

Bucky moves to get to his feet.

“No,” Black Widow snaps.  “Crawl.”

Bucky swallows hard.  The command should be demeaning, but it isn’t.  Instead, Bucky is suddenly, impossibly, even more turned on.  He moves across the room on his hands and knees.  Black Widow sits against the arm of the chair, crossing her legs and letting her hair down.  Bucky stops at her feet, looking up at her.  For long, tense moment, Black Widow stares down at him.  Her gaze is withering and Bucky fucking _loves_ it.  She hooks her finger in a come hither motion and Bucky straightens on his knees until she reaches down, hand landing on his shoulder and stilling him.  Her hand moves to his hair and she runs her fingers through it. 

“Do you know safewords?” she asks.

“Uhm,” Bucky replies.  He knows he’s read about the topic on the internet, but for the life of him, he can’t remember anything he might have read.  His mind is far too muddled.

“Red means everything stops,” Black Widow begins, not waiting for Bucky to respond further.  “The scene ends if you say red.  Yellow means you need a break or you don’t like what’s happening at that moment.  If you say yellow, I’ll stop what I’m doing and check in on you.  Green means keep going.  I’ll ask you for your color periodically.”

Bucky shivers and nods.

“I know you’re new,” Black Widow continues.  “So we’ll take this slow.  But you have to promise that you’ll talk to me.  Do you promise?”

“I promise,” Bucky answers immediately.

Black Widow’s hand cups Bucky’s face, holding his gaze for a long moment.  It’s a heavy moment, her green eyes boring into Bucky’s very soul.  Bucky doesn’t dare move. 

“Are you afraid?” Black Widow asks.

“A little bit,” Bucky responds honestly.  “But it’s okay.  I…I like it.”

Black Widow grins wide at his answer. 

“Stay here.”

She gets to her feet and moves across the room.  Bucky watches her throw open an armoire.  From where he kneels, he can see that it’s full of whips and restraints.  Immediately, Bucky shivers.  Black Widow takes her time perusing the items within and the anticipation is killing Bucky.  He sees her grab something, but he can’t see what it is.  She pulls her phone from her waistband and a moment later, there’s music playing.  A low, techno beat begins. 

_Have you ever done this kind of thing before?_

Black Widow turns and moves back towards Bucky.  In her hands are a pair of red and black cuffs with a matching, thick leather collar.  Bucky’s stomach flips nervously as she sits back against the arm of the chair and reaches for Bucky’s wrist.  She secures the soft leather tightly around Bucky’s right wrist, locking it with a small padlock.  Bucky offers his left hand next, and she does the same, locking the cuff on with a small _click_.  Finally, she holds the leather collar open.  Bucky begins to shake.  He can’t stop himself.  The cool leather envelops the skin of his neck.  Already, reality seems to be moving slowly.  Black Widow leans forward and latches the collar.  It’s tight, almost too tight, but not quite.  When Bucky swallows, he can feel his throat pressing against the leather.  His cock is begging for attention, but Bucky can barely make himself move.  Black Widow padlocks the collar and straightens. 

The beat of the music is low and steady.  A voice moans and breathes sensually along with the ethereal sounds of the music.

_Baby, do you always act this shy?_

_What do I need to say to get my hands on your thighs?_

_Name your price._

_Can I come inside your mind?_

_How much would it take, to buy some of your time?_

Black Widow leans back, eyes on the collar around Bucky’s neck.  She cocks her head and hooks her finger through the ring at the front of the collar, tugging hard.  Bucky stumbles forward, catching himself on chair with his hand.  Black Widow grins down at him.

_Choke me out, but please not so hard._

_Sensitivity is the key and the key is to my heart._

_Lock me up and throw that shit away._

_Dirty minds think alike, can I be your personal slave?_

“Get on the bed,” Black Widow directs.

Bucky falls onto his hands and knees again, crawling across the carpet towards the bed.  He can feel Black Widow’s eyes on his skin, making him feel exposed.  He reaches the bed and climbs on top of the sheets, unsure what to do.  Black Widow stands up and approaches, rounding the bed, her eyes never leaving Bucky.

“Take your clothes off,” she demands.  “Slowly.”

With shaking fingers, Bucky reaches for his borrowed pants.  He lays against the bed, lifting his hips and pushing the tight pants down his legs as slowly as he can manage.  He works off his pants and then his briefs, his erect cock springing free.  Black Widow stands at the foot of the bed, hands on her hips, watching him with ravenous eyes.  Bucky is sweating, droplets running down his chest and his back.  He wipes his right palm on the sheets, watching Black Widow with a nervous gaze.

“Get on your hands and knees,” Black Widow directs.

Bucky does as he’s told.  He so desperately wants to touch his cock, but he doesn’t.

“Put your face against the bed.”

Bucky bends forward, prostrating slowly.  It’s an incredibly vulnerable position, his face pressed against the soft comforter, his ass in the air.  Black Widow approaches slowly and her hand lands between Bucky’s shoulder blades, pressing his down further.  Bucky folds his arms above his face, struggling to keep his eyes on Black Widow.  She stays just behind him, purposefully so it seems.  Bucky can only catch quick glimpses of her as she moves her hand to Bucky’s lower back, pressing down so that his back is arched sharply.  Her other hand pushes against one of his knees, moving it forward so that Bucky is at an even sharper angle.  Most of his weight sits against his forearms.  Black Widow’s nails press into his skin, move along his ass cheek and down his leg.

“Color?” she asks.

It takes Bucky far too long to remember what she means.

“Green,” he breathes, voice shaking.

Her hands leave Bucky’s skin.  He tries to twist and see where she is going.

“Don’t move,” Black Widow snaps.

Bucky freezes.  He breathes through his nose, stomach swirling.  He has no idea what to expect.  It’s as exhilarating as it is terrifying.  He can hear items shifting.  A moment later, Black Widow drops several things on the bed beside Bucky’s leg.  He wants to see what she’s doing, but he doesn’t dare move.

Black Widow’s hands are on Bucky again, nails dancing along the skin of his ass cheeks.  She grabs them hard, pulling them apart.  Bucky winces.  He’s exposed, so fucking exposed.  He can feel his cock dripping pre-cum.  When a finger brushes along his asshole, Bucky nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Have you ever used a butt plug?” Black Widow purrs from behind Bucky.

Bucky shakes his head.

“Use your words.”

“No, ma’am,” Bucky says, voice high pitched.

“Are you opposed to it?” Black Widow follows up, her voice firm and crisp.

“No, ma’am.”

Black Widow is silent for a long moment.  Bucky wishes desperately that he could see what she was doing.  He hears a cap popping and a moment later, something cold drips onto his asshole.  Again, Bucky jumps.  A hand lands on the small of his back, holding him firm.

“You’re shaking,” Black Widow observes softly.  “Are you alright?”

Is Bucky alright?  God, he fucking hopes so.  He doesn’t want this to end, he doesn’t want Black Widow to stop.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky says.

Again, Black Widow is silent.  Her hand remains on his lower back but he can feel her moving.  A moment later, something hard and cold presses against his hole.

“Take a breath,” Black Widow directs.  Bucky gasps.  Black Widow’s nails dig into the skin of his back.  “Slowly.  In and out.  Relax.”

Bucky does his best to do as he’s told.  As he breathes out, he feels the plug press harder against his hole.  He grits his teeth as it slides inside him.  It’s uncomfortable at first, but Bucky breathes through his nose, trying to will himself to relax.  Black Widow presses against the plug, making Bucky flinch at the sensation.  It’s a heavy plug, weighted, and it’s hard to ignore. 

“Color?” Black Widow asks.

“Green,” Bucky replies immediately.

“Are you okay with rope?” she follows.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Black Widow doesn’t waste any time.  She ties some rope around Bucky’s left ankle before shoving his ankle up towards his thigh.  It almost tips Bucky over, but he grabs a handful of the sheets beneath him and steadies himself.  Black Widow binds Bucky’s leg tightly and moves to the other.  Without warning, she pulls his knees out from under Bucky and he collapses against the bed.  Her movements are swift, decisive, aggressive.  In another minute, both of Bucky’s legs are bent and bound tightly.  Bucky tests the bond, trying to straighten his legs, but he can’t.

Black Widow climbs onto the bed, straddling Bucky’s back, pinning him to the mattress.  Her hands grab his shoulders and she sinks her nails into his flesh shoulder painfully as she leans over him.

“Color?” she hisses in his ear.

“Green, ma’am, green,” Bucky pants.

“Put your hands behind your back,” Black Widow demands immediately, sitting upright.

Bucky does as he’s told, squirming desperately under Black Widow’s weight.  She sits on the small of his back, her weight immediately over the spot where Bucky’s erection is pressed into the sheets.  She knows it too, because she begins to roll her hips.  Bucky bites the comforter, groaning desperately.  He finally gets both of his arms behind his back and Black Widow grabs them roughly.

Black Widow shoves his arms until they make a box.  With every moment that passes, the calm demeanor that Black Widow usually carries is slipping away, revealing something much more aggressive and animalistic.  The rope slides against Bucky’s skin roughly.  He should dislike the way it feels, the pain it causes.  But he doesn’t.  He fucking loves it. 

With his arms bound, Black Widow swings her weight off of Bucky’s back.  She grabs his wrists in her hands and begins to haul him upward.

“Get your knees under you,” she directs.

It’s a bit of the struggle with his legs bound so tightly in the way that they are.  But Black Widow holds up most of his weight surprisingly easily.  One of her hands moves down to grip his chest and Bucky finally maneuvers his knees under him.  Tied as tightly as they are, it’s painful to put his weight on them and Bucky winces when Black Widow forces him upright. 

Black Widow’s fingers are lightning quick.  She guides the rope along Bucky’s body, keeping the line tension with her other hand.  Bucky glances down, watching her face.  There’s a determined concentration in her green eyes.  It’s fascinating to watch her work.  With each passing line, Bucky’s arms are yanked into a tighter position behind his back.  He shimmies uncomfortably, arms flexing against the ropes.  Even with his metal arm, Bucky can’t budge.  This woman knows what she’s doing.

Black Widow ties off the last bit of rope and moves quickly across the bed.  Bucky writhes, the support he didn’t realize Black Widow was giving him gone.  He wobbles uncertainly, struggling to find balance.  On the other side of the bed, Black Widow crouches like a beast about to pounce.  She’s enjoying watching Bucky squirm and thrash.  The clear sadism in her gaze is a terrifying thing.  And Bucky feels like he’s going to come without even being touched.

“Color?” Black Widow asks in a low voice.  The usual composure and timbre to her voice is gone, replaced by something wrecked and dangerous. 

“Green.  Fucking green,” Bucky says through gritted teeth because he so, so badly wants to touch Black Widow but he is absolutely trapped. 

Black Widow darts across the bed again, grabbing Bucky by the loop of his collar and twisting him so that he falls against the bed on his back.  His back arches painfully and he struggles until he can finally get his feet under him, pulling his legs towards his chest.  Out of breath and sweating profusely, Bucky turns his head to find Black widow sprawled on her side, watching him with a deliciously hungry gaze.  She reaches out with a finger and begins to rub Bucky’s nipple.

“Mmm,” Black Widow purrs.  “Look at you, so helpless.”  Bucky swallows, his throat thick with desire as he pants through his nostrils, unable to say a thing.  “What am I going to do with you like this?” Black Widow continues, pinching Bucky’s nipple hard, making him hiss. 

“Anything you want,” Bucky moans, voice shaking.  “Please, ma’am.”

“Oh, I like it when you beg,” Black Widow replies with a wicked grin.  “I think I’m going to make you beg.”

“I’ll beg all you want ma’am,” Bucky shudders.

Black Widow chuckles, low and sinful.

“You’re going to regret saying that,” she laughs.

Her fingers begin to walk down Bucky’s body, inch by inch.  She hovers her hand just above Bucky’s rigid erection.

“Look how hard you are,” Black Widow purrs.  “I’m going to have fun with this.”

Bucky strains against the ropes, but again they hold.  He wants _so desperately_ to touch Black Widow, but he can’t.  Her finger runs down the length of his cock, just once, and the sound Bucky makes is guttural, desperate.  Black Widow’s hand closes around his cock and Bucky writhes.  Slowly, languishingly slowly, she jacks him once, running her palm through the pre-cum dripping from Bucky’s tip. 

“You’re not going to come,” Black Widow says slowly, in a low voice that is a promise.  Bucky spasms, crying out in need.  Black Widow chuckles again.  “Not until the _exact moment_ that I tell you to.”

Bucky nods frantically.

“Say it,” Black Widow snaps.

“I’m not-… _uh_ …not going to come until you say so.”

Black Widow releases his cock, making Bucky keen.

“Good boy.”

Black Widow reaches for something as Bucky’s body moves on its own accord.  Seeking contact, seeking friction, seeking release, seeking _anything_.  But every time Bucky moves, he can feel the weighted plug inside him brushing against his prostate.  He’s naked, trapped, exposed.  He’s _helpless_ , entirely helpless and at Black Widow’s whim.  And beside him, Black Widow is still entirely clothed in her yoga outfit.  Bucky whines, thrashes, jumps at the jolt to his prostrate, huffs desperately. 

Black Widow finally reveals what she has grabbed.  It’s a bottle of lube, and she uncaps it and begins to pour some in her hand.  Bucky whines in the back of his throat, a desperate plea because he’s too far gone for words.  He wants her to touch him.  Oh, god, please just touch him.

She does and the sound that Bucky makes is barely human.  Her hand is wet and warm and slick.  She moves it from the base of Bucky’s cock upwards, twisting her hand over his tip and moving down him again.  Bucky’s foreskin is pulled back and Black Widow runs her other hand over his exposed head.  He’s going to come, oh, fuck he’s going to come.

“M gunna come,” Bucky manages to grunt.

Immediately, Black Widow releases him.  Bucky gasps, crying out at the loss of contact and Black Widow laughs mercilessly.  Her slick hand runs up and down Bucky’s chest as he squirms, frustrated.  Bucky can feel his orgasm slipping away, and he’s entirely helpless to stop it. 

Black Widow moves, pushing herself up off the bed.  Bucky pants hard, trying to twist he neck so he can see what she’s doing.  She’s back a moment later, but her pants are gone, revealing a pair of red lace panties.  Black Widow moves back onto the bed, once more straddling Bucky, but this time she holds herself over Bucky’s face.  With one leg struck out, Black Widow holds her pussy above Bucky’s face.  All he can see is damp, red lace and her smooth labia. 

“Is this what you want?  Hmm?” Black Widow asks devilishly. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky pants.

“You think you deserve my pussy?” Black Widow snaps.  “You think you deserve me?”

Bucky has no answer for that question.  He huffs and sputters, unsure what to say.  It only makes Black Widow laugh.

“You have to work for it,” Black Widow continues, twisting her hips above Bucky’s face.  “What have you done to work for it?”

“N-nothing?” Bucky stutters.

Black Widow pulls her leg in, pushing herself away from Bucky’s face.  Her calf lands against his throat, pressing down hard.

“Exactly,” she hisses.  “You have to earn your rewards from me.”

Bucky stares up at Black Widow, wide-eyed, struggling to breathe.

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathes.

Bucky’s head is spinning.  He can barely remember to keep breathing.  If he was asked his name right now, he’d say whatever Black Widow told him to say.  It’s the only thing he can do.  She has him trapped in her web, and there is no place he’d rather be.

Black Widow crawls down Bucky’s body, settling against his abdomen, making it even harder to breathe.  Bucky hears the lube uncap again, and the sound alone makes his toes curl.  Again, Black Widow’s warm, slick hands are around Bucky’s cock.  She works him expertly, deft fingers finding every exact right spot to make Bucky’s mind melt.  She knows what she’s doing, she knows how to wring Bucky out.  But Bucky has caught onto her game.  He fights against his orgasm instead of chasing it.  The longer he can hold out, the longer her hands will be on him.

But Bucky can’t hold out forever.  In a matter of minutes, his balls are tightening as his orgasm threatens to crash over him.  He wants to come, oh fuck, he _needs_ to come.  He could not say a word, just let Black Widow continue.  It’d be the smart thing to do.  But his lips are moving before he can even complete that thought.

“ _Gunna come!_ ”

When Black Widow’s hands leave him this time, Bucky screams, frustrated and desperate.  He feels like he’s having a heart attack as his entire body shudders.  Black Widow laughs at him, enjoying this far too much.  For a sudden moment, Bucky hates her.  She’s toying with him.  She teases and she teases but she’s never going to let him come.  She’s going to keep him trapped here in this horrible limbo forever.  As his second orgasm slips through his fingers, as he collapses against the bed only to have the plug ram hard against his prostate, as the sensations drive Bucky insane, as Black Widow laughs at his struggling, Bucky realizes he has to give himself over to it.  He can’t fight, he can’t fight her.  She’s taken away any weapon he may have.  Slowly, deliberately, without Bucky even noticing, she has crippled him, leaving him existing on her whim.  There are tears in Bucky’s eyes.  He knows he has to just give in.

Black Widow flips over on top of Bucky, sprawling across his body.  He stares down at her, her green eyes boring into his as she slides down Bucky’s body, as she slots herself between Bucky’s legs.

“No,” Bucky gasps, shaking his head.  “No, _no, no, please_.”

Black Widow grins the devil’s grin up at Bucky before opening her mouth wide.  Her tongue darts out and runs along Bucky’s cock.  She pauses at his frenulum, swirling her tongue across it before licking along the exposed head of Bucky’s cock.  Bucky shudders, full body spasming.  There are definitely tears in his eyes.  They stream down his cheeks and he throws his head against the mattress. 

“Look at me!” Black Widow snaps.

Bucky takes a few slow breathes through his nose.  Swallowing hard, he lifts his head to look down at Black Widow.

“I told you I would make you regret saying you’d beg.”

Bucky can’t form any real words.  He can only roar and strain desperately against his restraints.  He fights, truly fights against the ropes.  He thrashes, trying to break them or loosen them.  But he can’t so he can only scream louder.  Black Widow is crawling up his body like a panther, grabbing his hair hard and yanking his head so that he has to look at her.

“If you want to come, you’re going to keep your _fucking eyes_ on me,” she hisses furiously.  “And you’re going to let me hear you _beg._ ”

Bucky’s chest rises and falls rapidly.  He stares at Black Widow defiantly, refusing to even blink as he snarls at her.  Black Widow twists her hand in his hair, causing Bucky to cry out in pain.

“What do you say?” she snarls.

Bucky takes a few shuddering breathes.

“Yes, Black Widow.”

Black Widow releases his head, slithering back down between his legs.  She uses two fingers to motion to her eyes.  Bucky nods, understanding the terms.  She’s going to kill him, holy fuck, she is going to absolutely destroy him.  How long will she play this game?  How long will she keep Bucky here, desperate and needing?  Bucky watches her as she opens her mouth again, holding his cock upright with one hand.  He watches as she swallows him down, as he groans and strains against the ropes again.

“Please, please, please,” Bucky moans like a prayer.  “Please, Black Widow, _god_ , _please!  Please_ can I come?”

Black Widow’s mouth is warm and tight and _so perfect._   Her devil’s tongue moves along Bucky’s cock, presses against his frenulum, digs into his slit.  There are more tears in Bucky’s eyes because it’s good, it’s so fucking good.  Then her mouth is moving away, and his cock pops from her mouth. 

“ _No!_   Please, please don’t stop.  _Please, please, please!_ ”

Bucky cries out, grateful when she takes him in her hand.  He’s already so close.  She moves her hand up and down, across his tip, tightening around the base.  Slow at first, then growing faster.  This time, Bucky’s orgasm refuses to be ignored, quickly trying to crash through him before he can say anything.  But Black Widow seems to sense it, and she releases him before Bucky can say a word.

“I thought I told you to beg,” she snaps.  “If you want to come, you’re going to have to beg.”

Bucky’s so exhausted.  He can’t even fight or thrash this time.  He can only slump against the mattress as, once more, he is denied release.     

“ _Please_ ,” he sobs, voice broken.  “ _Please, please_.”

Black Widow straddles Bucky once again, this time facing him.  He can feel how moist her pussy is against the skin of his chest.  She bends forward, grabbing Bucky’s face in her hands.

“Did you think you’d get to come before me?”

Bucky breaks.  He truly breaks.  He’s crying again, choking and gasping for air as Black Widow straightens and grins wickedly down at him. 

“Eyes on me,” she reminds him in a sing song voice.

Bucky grits his teeth and breathes through his nose, staring hard at Black Widow’s face.  She bites her lip as her hand travels between her legs.  She lifts herself up, putting her hand between herself and Bucky’s skin.  She sinks down onto her own finger, head falling back as she moans.  Slowly, she twists her hips, fingers working inside herself.  Her other arm comes up behind her head and she writhes against Bucky’s skin.  Every motion is fluid, every sound a melody.  Bucky is mesmerized, watching her.

Black Widow’s head snaps forward.  She quickens the speed of her hips, rocking hard against her own fingers.  With her other hand, she reaches down and grips Bucky’s chin painfully, nails digging into his skin.  Her body shudders and her mouth falls open.  Her green eyes bore into Bucky’s as she comes, gushing around her hand, across Bucky’s chest.  Warm, sweet smelling, slick.  Bucky is soaked as Black Widow falls back against Bucky’s knees.

Bucky is gone, he’s so far gone.  He can feel his mind unraveling.  Black Widow reaches up and shoves her wet fingers between Bucky’s lips.  Bucky licks it up happily, moaning softly as she presses her fingers hard down his throat. 

Black Widow climbs off Bucky.  Bucky watches her with hooded eyes.  She gabs his cock, and a single touch almost makes him come.  Bucky’s never been this hard before, and it’s _painful_. 

“ _Please, please,_ ” Bucky whispers.  “ _Please can I come?_ ”

Black Widow presses hard against the tip, digs a finger against his slit.  He feels pre-cum drip down his shaft.  He shudders, pleading, begging, praying.  Black Widow’s pace quickens.  Then, her other hand reaches between Bucky’s legs and begins to press rhythmically against the plug.  Bucky spasms.  The sensation is more than he can handle.  It’s all Bucky needs.  He’s so close, so _fucking close_.

“ _Can I please come?!”_ he sobs.

“Yes.”

At the word, Bucky comes harder than he ever has before.  He screams and he sobs as the strongest orgasm he’s ever experienced washes over him.  The moment seems to stretch on forever.  On and on, more than Bucky can even process.  Bucky can’t even make a sound anymore, he can only flex against the rope, mouth stretched wide as his warm cum splashes across his chest and abdomen. 

Every ounce of energy leaves Bucky’s body at once.  He feels hallow, emptied out, depleted.  He slumps against the mattress, unmoving.  His ears are ringing and when he opens his eyes, he’s seeing stars. 

Black Widow is moving quickly and a few seconds later, Bucky feels his left leg being released.  The sensation is painful and Bucky winces, but Black Widow is gentle with him, guiding his leg until it’s straight before moving to the next one.  It’s a relief to be untied.  Sensation Bucky hadn’t realized he had lost flood back into his extremities.  Black Widow maneuvers him onto his side.  Bucky slumps forward as Black Widow unties his hands.  She rubs his flesh shoulder as she eases his hands back to his front. 

Black Widow doesn’t stop moving, instead turning in the bed and grabbing the edge of the comforter.  She manhandles Bucky, and Bucky let’s her.  She moves him under the blanket, pushing him back against the pillows before slipping under herself.  With gentle hands, she pulls Bucky to her.

There’s nothing Bucky can say.  He can barely think.  His ears are still ringing and his hands and feet are still numb.  Bucky’s being dragged down into sleep.  He can’t resist it.  He’s so heavy, so incredibly heavy, but somehow empty at the same time. 

“M’m gonna go to sleep,” Bucky slurs.

Black Widow chuckles, low and warm, before kissing Bucky’s sweaty forehead.

“You did good,” she praises quietly.  “Go to sleep.”

Bucky can barely hear her, he’s already drifting away.

“Yes…ma’am.”

Sleep overtakes Bucky like a wave crashing across a beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song mentioned in this chapter is "Personal Slave" by Honey Dijon


	7. Down

 

 

Bucky wakes not even twenty minutes later.  He’s physically, bodily _exhausted_ , but also entirely content.  Warm and fuzzy, Bucky thinks vaguely.  He stretches, joints popping loudly, alerting Black Widow to the fact that he’s awoken.  She drops her phone against the comforter and looks down at Bucky with an arched eyebrow. 

“That was…awesome,” Bucky says in a thick voice, not able to fight the smile that splits his face.

Black Widow inclines her head in agreement, returning Bucky’s grin.  She pushes Bucky’s sweat-locked hair away from his forehead carefully, eyes soft as they move lazily across Bucky’s face, down his neck, across his chest. 

There’s a knock on the door that draws both of their attention.

“Come in,” Black Widow calls.

Jarvis pushes the door open, cheery expression in place.  Bucky blushes and becomes interested in a loose strand of the blanket around him.  Jarvis approaches the bed, handing something the Black Widow.

“You have an appointment in an hour, ma’am,” Jarvis reports merrily.

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Black Widow replies.

Jarvis takes his leave, and Black Widow turns in the bed to hand Bucky whatever Jarvis had brought in.  It turns out to be Bucky’s phone.  He had completely forgotten about it downstairs.  But before Bucky can even check the three texts from Jess, Black Widow’s hand slides along the skin of his chest, drawing his attention to her. 

“Come take a shower,” Black Widow says in a voice that’s warm and tempting, while also being entirely a command.

Bucky nods numbly, unable to take his eyes off of Black Widow.  She’s sliding off the bed and all Bucky can think is that he’s about to see her naked.  Bucky digs his nails into his palms, trying hard to not become aroused as Black Widow crooks her finger in a come-hither motion.  Bucky follows her obediently.

The bathroom is already warm, the heated floors a pleasant surprise against Bucky’s bare feet.  Outside, Bucky can see snow drifting lazily past the window.  The wind worn forest looks frigid and dead, a harsh contrast to the warmth of the house.  Black Widow turns and stops Bucky short, a small key in her hand.  Bucky had entirely forgotten about the cuffs and collar, but the idea of taking them off makes him feel sad.  He runs his fingers along the leather against his neck sadly.  Black Widow unlocks the padlocks of the cuffs, taking them off quickly.  Bucky turns reluctantly to allow her to undo the collar.  The sudden rush of cold air on his neck when the collar is removed makes Bucky shiver. 

Black Widow leads Bucky towards a massive shower.  Bucky holds his breath as he watches Black Widow begin to peel off her shirt.  He can’t help but to watch every inch of Black Widow’s perfect skin being revealed.  She wears no bra and Bucky takes a sharp breath through his nose when he sees her breasts spring free of the tight shirt. When she moves, Bucky catches a glimpse of a tattoo across Black Widow's shoulders but she shifts before Bucky can see what it is.  Bucky swallows hard as Black Widow turns and looks him in the eye, slowly removing her lace panties.  Bent at her waist, Bucky can see the tattoo fully now, a tangle of blood red roses twisted through with thorns, blooming from shoulder to shoulder across Black Widow's back. It's a beautifully done, if not a bit on the nose. When Black Widow straightens, she steps in close to Bucky.  A sudden, unexpected motion, Black Widow’s body plasters along Bucky’s front.  Her hands run through Bucky’s hair and down his back, his arms.  She takes Bucky’s hands, places them on her lower back.  Bucky’s cock takes immediate interest and he’s helpless to stop it. 

Bucky leans in close, tightening his grip against Black Widow’s skin.  He wants to kiss her.  He wants to fuck her.  But he can’t tell what she wants.  She twists in Bucky’s grip and Bucky revels in the way her warm skin feels sliding across his metal digits.  With a low chuckle, Black Widow twists her hips, purposefully dragging herself across Bucky’s erection, making him groan.

“You remember what I told you?” Black Widow chuckles, voice low and taught.  Bucky tries to remember what she’s talking about, but his mind is far too preoccupied with the way Black Widow is moving against him.  “You earn your rewards with me.”  Black Widow steps out of Bucky’s grip and into the shower.  Bucky groans at the loss of contact, opening eyes he hadn’t realized had fallen shut.

Black Widow stands in the darkened corner of the large, stone shower.  She messes with some dials, and water begins to fall fully from the ceiling.  Bucky marvels at the shower for a moment, stepping into the downpour slowly.  It’s like standing in a rainstorm, or under a waterfall.  Bucky tilts his head back, letting the warm water run down his face and across his body.  When he wipes the water out of his eyes, Black Widow is still posed in the far corner, narrow eyes watching Bucky carefully.  Bucky looks her up and down, taking in the shape and curves of her body.  When he looks back up at her face, her eyes hold a question.

“What?” Bucky asks, suddenly feeling awkward.

“What will you do to earn your time with me?” Black Widow asks in a low voice.

Bucky’s stomach flips and he doesn’t really know why.  When he tries to speak, his voice sounds raw.

“Anything,” he croaks.  Bucky clears his throat and looks hard into Black Widow’s green eyes.  “Anything, ma’am.”

Black Widow cocks her eyebrow.

“Anything?”

“It would make me so happy to—to be with you,” Bucky says in a rushed breathe.

“Be with me?” Black Widow asks.

“Serve you, be your submissive, be your slave, whatever,” Bucky keens.

“Those are all very different things,” Black Widow points out.

Bucky flounders, hands moving even though he has no idea what to say.  He would say anything to get Black Widow to promise that this won’t be the last time Bucky sees her.  Black Widow takes pity on Bucky, stepping across the space between them and grabbing Bucky’s left wrist gently.

“It’s okay to not know things,” Black Widow says in a soothing tone.  “But don’t go making promises you don’t understand.”

Bucky breathes through his nose, still unsure what to say.

“I just…” Bucky begins weakly, eyes dropping to his feet.  “…I just want to see you again.”

“Why?” Black Widow presses immediately.

“Why?” Bucky repeats, disbelieving.  “Because you’re-you’re _everything_.  You’re something out of a dream, out of a fantasy.  A fantasy I’ve had my entire fucking life but I’ve never, _ever_ dared act upon until now.  And I fucking found _you._   And I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’m _not_ something out of a fantasy, Bucky,” Black Widow says coolly, dropping Bucky’s wrist and stepping away.  “I’m a person.  I’m not a stereotype out of a porno.  You see what you want to see in me, but I’m not here to fulfill your fantasy.”

“That’s-that’s not what I mean,” Bucky replies weakly, face growing warm.

“Then, please, enlighten me on what you mean,” Black Widow snaps, putting more space between them in the large shower. 

“I mean that…that…” Bucky begins, voice desperate and high as he swallows down a lump in his throat.  “I mean that my entire life I’ve been afraid of-of what other people might think.  That fear has driven every decision that I have ever made in my life.  And the night that I finally, _finally_ was brave enough to not care what people might think, I met _you_.  You make me feel brave because _you’re_ brave.  You make me want to be a better person.  These last two days, I’ve felt better than I have in _years_.  It’s like a fog is starting to clear, and I hadn’t even realized how lost I’ve been.  The things I’ve been afraid to tell people, to show people, you accepted without a second thought.  My arm and my-…my PTSD,” Bucky ducks his eyes, jaw tight.  “And yeah, the fantasies I’ve been too afraid to ever share with anyone.  But, I know you’re not just a part of that fantasy.  You’re just…the first person I’ve been able to even begin to share them with.  And now that I’ve started…I don’t want to stop.  I’m 28 years old.  I’ve lived 28 years for someone else.  I’m finally starting to live the life that I want…for _me_.”  Bucky take a sharp, stuttering breath.  “And it feels so good.  I just want to feel good for a change.”

Bucky is still staring at the floor when Nat steps into his space, presses her body against his, cups his cheeks in her palms until he looks up at her.

“Hey,” she whispers.  Bucky forces himself to focus on Nat.  “I like you, Bucky.  I do.  And I want to help you.  I want to take care of you.  But I can’t be your therapist.  And I can’t be your saving grace.”  She pauses and stares hard into Bucky’s eyes.  “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Not really,” Bucky admits.

“I can take the weight off your shoulders,” Nat explains carefully.  “But I’m going to expect something in return.  I want to help you.  But you’re going to have to put in the work yourself.”

Bucky nods.  He thinks he understands what she’s trying to say.

“Are you willing to put in the work?” Nat asks, voice firm.

Bucky looks into Nat’s green.  He can see his own strained expression in the reflection.  He nods solemnly.

“Yes.”

Nat pushes up onto her tip toes and brings her lips to Bucky’s.  The kiss is warm and intimate.  Bucky closes his eyes, kissing her back, reveling in the sensation of her soft lips against his.  But it’s a short kiss, and Nat pulls away.  She takes a small step back, but her hands still rest on Bucky’s upper arms.  Bucky opens his eyes and sees Nat studying his body.  Bucky blushes and glances down, trying to see what she’s staring at.  Her fingers come to brush a spot along Bucky’s flesh arm.  Bucky sees the marks there, deep bruises in the perfect shape of the rope that had been there. 

“You were really struggling,” Black Widow giggles softly, fingertips tracing the line around Bucky’s bicep. 

She continues with her other hand, brushing along more marks along Bucky’s chest, his wrist, his thighs.  Bucky inspects the bruises he can see in the dim light.  They’re fascinating, and already the prospect of them fading is making Bucky feel sad.  The bruises are proof, Black Widow’s signature on his skin.

Nat grabs soap and a sponge.  A moment later, she’s lathering Bucky’s skin, washing him carefully.  Bucky stands perfectly still, the scent of the lavender soap filling the warm space.  Nat is thorough and gentle, washing Bucky’s upper body, even his left arm, before stepping back and soaping up her own body.  Bucky watches with hooded eyes as the water washes him clean.  Bucky’s mouth is dry when Black Widow hands the sponge back to him.  He washes his lower body while he continues to watch Black Widow.  She washes her hair, tilting her head back to let the warm water rinse through her bright red locks.  She rubs herself down with oil that smells like eucalypts and makes her skin shine enticingly.  She runs her hands through her hair a last time before glancing up at Bucky and stepping into his space.

Nat doesn’t say a word, she simply grabs the back of Bucky’s head and pulls him into another kiss.  Bucky goes willingly, kissing her warm, slick lips.  When she pulls away, Nat steps out of the shower, leaving Bucky alone. 

Bucky rushes to wash his own hair before struggling with the dials.  There’s three of them and Bucky fumbles about, trying to turn the water off before climbing out of the shower after Nat.  She stands in front of the mirror, a towel wrapped around her waist as she brushes out her damp hair.  Nat smiles at Bucky through the foggy mirror and points to a towel on the counter nearby. 

Once Bucky has toweled off a bit, Black Widow comes up and spins him to face the mirror.  Bucky ducks his gaze out of instinct, not wanting to catch a glimpse of his left arm.  But Black Widow holds him firmly until he finally looks at his own reflection.  Bucky barely even spots his metal arm before he notices the bruises and burns on his body.  From this angle, the pattern is purposeful and entrancing.  Bucky runs his fingers along the marks, a small smile pulling at his cheeks.  He’s saddened that he’s going to have to cover them up.  He doesn’t want them to ever fade. 

“How about a test,” Black Widow says from behind Bucky.

“A test?”

“A test,” Black Widow repeats cryptically.

Black Widow moves around Bucky, reaching for something inside a small set of drawers.  Bucky glances down to find a permanent marker in her fingers.  She uses a hand towel to dry off Bucky’s chest before leaning forward and uncapping the marker.

Bucky watches Black Widow work in the mirror.  She writes something along the skin of his chest.  When she steps away, Bucky reads the words backwards in the mirror.

_Property of Black Widow_

“You keep this on you for a week,” Black Widow says, tapping the words with her long nail.  “Don’t let it fade.  Send me a picture every morning at 9:00 am.  If you can do that for a week, then we can talk about where this is all going to go.”

At first, Bucky balks.  The words are large enough that he won’t be able to wear a sleeveless shirt at work.  And he usually changes out of his sweaty clothes before leaving the gym.  People might see.  Jess might see.  What would Bucky say?

But then the idea makes Bucky feel fuzzy, intoxicated.  It starts in his chest, the skin underneath the words growing warm and spreading through Bucky’s whole body.  His lungs feel tight as he reads and re-reads the words.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky breathes. 

Black Widow grins and walks towards the door.  Bucky follows her on numb feet. 

“Jarvis can take you home,” Black Widow calls over her shoulder.  “I’ve got a client coming in thirty minutes.”

“Alright,” Bucky says, bending to pick up his freshly laundered clothes from where they had fallen on the floor beside the bed.

“Ask Clint for a checklist before you go,” Black Widow continues as she moves into her closet.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky replies even though he has no idea what checklist Nat is talking about.

Bucky pulls on his clothes, pocketing his phone and feeling his wallet and keys in the pocket of his jacket.  Black Widow steps out of the closet wearing a black leather bra and a matching thong.  Against her thighs is a pair of corset laced, leather garters that hold up lace stockings. 

“Will you tighten this?” she asks, holding up a leather corset.  Bucky nods numbly and approaches her as Black Widow hooks the corset around her waist.  She turns and grabs the wall, bending forward and Bucky begins to tighten the thing. 

“Come on,” Black Widow pushes.  “Put your back into it, I’m not breakable.”

Bucky chuckles to himself, grabbing the tie in both hands and yanking hard.  Black Widow nods, encouraging, and Bucky pulls hard again. 

“That’s good,” Black Widow gasps, smiling over her shoulder.

Bucky ties the string in a neat bow and steps away.  Black Widow pauses, putting a finger against the words on Bucky’s chest.

“Every day,” she reminds him in a low voice.  “9:00 am exactly.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky nods.

Black Widow pulls Bucky into another kiss, fingers brushing his cheek gently.  When she pulls away, Bucky is breathless.  He doesn’t want to leave, but he can tell that Black Widow is done with him for the day.

“Have a good day,” she purrs before brushing past Bucky and heading back to the bathroom.

The door shuts, and Bucky knows that he has to take his leave.  Wistfully, he leaves Black Widow’s bedroom and heads downstairs.  He finds Clint in the kitchen, preparing some sort of parfait. 

“Hey, man,” Clint greets with a quick grin.

“I’m supposed to ask you for a checklist,” Bucky says awkwardly.

“Oh!  Right.”

Clint drops what he’s doing and disappears into the library, coming back with some papers in his hand.  He offers the stapled stack to Bucky.  Bucky glances down at the title on the first page. 

_BDSM Checklist_

“Thanks,” Bucky says as he takes the checklist in uncertain hands.  “And…I need a ride home.”

Clint nods, walking to a com set on the wall.  He pushes a button and leans in close to the thing.

“Jarvis, chauffeur needed.”  Clint releases the button and smiles at Bucky.  “He’ll be right down.”

True to Clint’s word, Jarvis appears in the kitchen less than a minute later.  Jarvis leads Bucky into a massive, underground garage that Bucky had _definitely_ not been shown in the original tour by Tony.  Bucky has a mini-heart attack at the sheer number of gorgeous, expensive, and vintage cars in the cavernous space.  Jarvis heads towards a black Cadillac SRX, opening the passenger side door for Bucky.

Jarvis is skilled at holding pleasant, light hearted conversation.  Bucky, on the other hand, is horrid at small talk.  Jarvis doesn’t seem to mind, however, and he happily rattles on, asking Bucky innocuous questions about things like the weather, or restaurants in the city.  Bucky answers in short, one or two word replies, absentmindedly replying to Jess’s texts.

_Well, did you sleep with her?_

_Come on Barnes you can’t keep me hanging like this_

_Seriously what is going on?_

Bucky rolls his eyes, typing out a quick reply.

_It was a really good date.  I hung out with her most of the day._

It’s only a few minutes before Jess responds.

_OMG.  Did you sleep with her?  Did you at least get a name finally?_

_Natasha_ , Bucky replies, smiling to himself without realizing it.

 _Sounds sexy,_ Jess responds.  Followed up quickly by, _So I assume that youre purposefully avoiding telling me if you had sex._

Bucky sighs.  He doesn’t know what to say.  He didn’t _technically_ have sex with Black Widow.  What happened was better than sex, at least better than any sex Bucky’s ever had.  He has no idea how to explain that to Jess.

It dawns on Bucky that he should just tell Jess.  Why not?  She’s his best friend and she already knows nearly everything about Bucky.  Why wouldn’t he tell her?  Bucky knows she wouldn’t reject him.  She might call him a freak, but it’d be in jest and immediately preceding a string of interested questions.  The idea of telling someone should terrifying Bucky.  But it doesn’t.  What he had said in the shower was true, Black Widow makes Bucky feel brave.  Bucky’s fingers are moving before he can question it further.

_She’s into BDSM_

Bucky sends a second text right after that.

_I met her at a BDSM event that I went to.  Cuz I think I’m into BDSM too_

It’s not thirty seconds before his phone is ringing.

“Barnes, are you serious?!” Jess shouts as a way of greeting as soon as Bucky picks up.  “Is that what that party was last weekend?  You went to a sex party?!”

“Uhm,” Bucky replies, blushing hard.  “Yeah.”

“Okay, what have you done with my best friend?” Jess cries.  “Since when do you go to shit like that?  Since when do you go to shit like that and _not tell me?_ ”

“I just did tell you,” Bucky points out.

“Yeah, a week later!” Jess exclaims.  “Tell me everything.  Now.”

Bucky glances over at Jarvis.  He doesn’t exactly feel like explaining this all in front of him.

“I will, but not now,” Bucky says.

“Barnes!”

“I promise, I’ll tell you.  I’m on my way home.  Come over.”

Jess sighs, annoyed.

“Fine.  But you owe me _details_ ,” she huffs.

“Details,” Bucky promises.

 

Bucky knows he’s in trouble when Jess shows up at his house with an unopened bottle of Maker’s Mark.

“ _That_ seems a bit uncalled for,” Bucky says, eyeing the bottle.

“What, this?” Jess asks, holding up the bottle.  “Whiskey is never uncalled for, Barnes.”  She shoulders past Bucky, into the house.  “This whole bottle is for me, anyway,” she calls over her shoulder, already peeling away the wax around the cap. 

Jess doesn’t waste any time, making a beeline for Bucky’s living room.  Bucky stops in his kitchen, pulling two glasses from the dishwasher.  Jess is impatiently fiddling with the cap of the Maker’s Mark when Bucky comes into the room.  For a brief, terrifying second, Bucky balks.  Is he really going to tell Jess everything?  It’s not even that Bucky is afraid to tell Jess about the BDSM part, which he definitely is.  It’s the idea of telling Jess about Black Widow _at all._ Is it too preemptive?  He shouldn’t be getting his hopes up this soon.  By telling Jess, Bucky could very well be jinxing this entire affair.  In all likeliness, Bucky is going to screw up somehow.  Is telling Jess about Black Widow after spending less than twenty-four hours with her dangerously naïve of Bucky?

“Hey!” Jess snaps, pulling Bucky out of his own mind.  “I know that look on your face.  You’re having second thoughts.  Sit down, drink some whiskey.”

Bucky does as he’s told, collapsing into his worn armchair.  Jess pulls the glasses out of his hand, handing him back a half-filled glass a moment later.  Bucky takes the offering, sipping cautiously.  Part of him wants to get drunk, but it’s not even noon yet.  Jess settles into the couch and fixes Bucky with an expectant glare.  When Bucky says nothing, Jess huffs and leans forward.

“So, Natasha,” Jess says.  “What’s she like?”

Bucky is surprised by Jess’s first question.  He had expected Jess to press him about the whole _BDSM_ issue.  In his mind, he’s been quietly preparing answers to that very line of question for the last few minutes.  So this throws Bucky for a loop.

“Natasha?” he repeats dumbly.  “Natasha is…” Bucky doesn’t notice the grin spreading across his face.  “…she’s _awesome_.”

“ _Woooow_ ,” Jess exclaims.  “This chick must be something.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush, Barnes.” 

Bucky ducks his head immediately, bringing up his hands to try to hide his face, which of course, only makes him blush harder.

“So, what,” Jess presses, leaning forward further.  “You want to throw Natasha over your knee and spank her?”

Jess laughs at her own joke, but Bucky only grows warmer.  The imagery alone is making Bucky duck his gaze.  His mouth feels incredibly dry, and Bucky takes another sip of whiskey.  It burns in his throat when he finally speaks.

“Other way around…actually…” Bucky mumbles, glancing quickly at Jess.

“Other way around?” Jess repeats.  What Bucky is saying dawns on her and her eyebrows shoot upward.  “ _Oooh_ , you want to be thrown over _her_ knee and spanked?”

Bucky finishes his whiskey in a long gulp.

“You know, Barnes.  I’ve known you for a year and a half and you still find ways to surprise me,” Jess says before tilting her glass in a mock salute and downing her whiskey.  She cocks her head as she swallows the drink down.  “Though I have to say, I’m not _that_ surprised.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bucky replies immediately.

“It just fits,” Jess shrugs, grabbing the bottle to fill up their glasses. 

“What does _that_ mean?”

Jess rolls her eyes, giving Bucky as exasperated look.

“I mean…I know you,” Jess begins.  “You have a problem with authority.  And with, like…social norms.”

“I don’t have a problem with authority.”

“Right, you just _love_ being told what to do by a jackass like Josh,” Jess retorts with a sarcastic smile.

“My problem with Josh isn’t that he has authority.  It’s that he’s a jackass who doesn’t deserve authority,” Bucky snaps, defensively. 

“Which is just another way of saying that you don’t respect his authority.”

“I don’t respect _him,_ ” Bucky defends.  “There’s a difference.”

“You find fault in _everybody_ , Barnes,” Jess says.  Before Bucky can reply, Jess is pressing on.  “ _Especially_ in yourself.  But, it would seem, not in this Natasha character.  After everything you’ve been through…I don’t blame you.  You’ve experienced the worst in humanity.  You’ve watched your heroes fall.  It makes sense that you’d crave some sort of…infallible, trustworthy authority figure.”

Bucky chews his lip for a long moment, eyes on the glass in his hands.  Secretly, he resents Jess for the psychology degree she earned before she joined the Army.  She’s perceptive, uncomfortably so sometimes, but usually unaware of just how true her words ring.

“Is that a fancy way of saying I have Daddy Issues?” Bucky finally replies weakly, in an attempt at a joke.

“Your words, not mine,” Jess chuckles.

Bucky takes an uncomfortable sip of his whiskey.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with…whatever the hell you want to do with your private time.  You’d be surprised at the toy selection I have at home,” Jess cocks her eyebrow, and Bucky can’t help but reluctantly smile.  “Just be careful, emotionally, Buck.”  There’s a serious glint in Jess’s eyes, and she leans even further forward.  “I’d say this about the straightest, most vanilla girl on the planet.  It’s great to see you getting back out there.  I just don’t want to see you put _all_ of your hopes and your faith in someone and be let down _again_.”

Bucky nods because he knows Jess is right.  Don’t rush into things.  Don’t get any idea of grandeur.  Don’t set himself up for failure.

“Now, tell me about how the date went.”


	8. Spar

By the time Bucky wakes up for work the next morning, he’s forgotten about the words written on his chest.  He jumps when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror.  Immediately, he can’t _stop_ thinking about the words.

_Property of Black Widow_

Bucky hasn’t stared at himself in a mirror in a long, long time.  But he can’t tear his eyes away right now.  He reads and re-reads the slanted text, mouth suddenly dry.  He runs his flesh fingers over his quickly warming chest.  He follows the purple bruises left by the rope.  Swallowing hard, Bucky turns and climbs into his shower. 

With the warm water running down Bucky’s skin and his eyes on the words on his chest, Bucky feels himself quickly growing hard.  Without a thought, he takes himself in his right hand.  Bucky thinks about yesterday.  He touches the rope burn on his wrist.  He imagines Black Widow, her voice, her scent, the way she looks naked, the way she moves.  He can practically hear her purring his name.  Bucky’s fist tightens. 

Bucky drops his head forward against the tile, leaning over as he quickens his pace.  The water runs down his back, off his arms and his face.  Bucky closes his eyes, and he can almost see Black Widow’s glinting green eyes.  Cat-like, seeing all, never missing a beat, staring into Bucky’s very soul.  Bucky thinks of her laugh, light but sadistic, taking pleasure in pain and control.  Bucky is but a puppet on her string.

Bucky groans and shudders as he comes, quicker than he thought it would be.  As he does, he stares at the words on his chest.  

Once out of the shower, Bucky finds his phone and snaps a picture of himself in the fogged up mirror.  His hair is damp, his face flushed, and a towel sits low on his hips.  He sets up a message to be sent at 9:00 am on the dot, the picture with the greeting, _Good morning!_

Bucky is scarfing down a bowl of cereal when his phone lights up with a reply.

_Don’t you just look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?_

Bucky grins to himself, blushing a bit as he types out a reply.

_Just thinking of you, ma’am_

But whatever good mood Bucky might have been in is quickly dissipated the moment he walks into the gym.  Josh impatiently directs Bucky to his office and Bucky has to sit quietly as Josh tells him that one more customer complaint will result in Bucky being fired.

“Don’t _antagonize_ , Barnes,” Josh says with a frustrated sigh.  “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I’m not an idiot,” Bucky snaps.

Josh drops his head into his hands.

“ _That’s_ what I’m talking about,” Josh grumbles.

“Fine, sir.  I apologize for _antagonizing_ and I will…work on that in the future,” Bucky forces himself to say.

“That’s all I ask,” Josh sighs.  “Now get out there before the first Bootcamp group starts.”

Bucky _hates_ teaching Bootcamp.  It consists mostly of middle-aged stay-at-home moms who wear those posture shoes and brightly colored track suits.  Luckily, he’s teaching today with Jess.

“What’s that?” Jess asks the moment she sees Bucky, pointing to his wrist.

Bucky glances down at the rope burn that is clearly visible in his short sleeve shirt.  He blushes hard and Jess gasps, stepping in close.

“Is that a sex thing?” Jess whispers.

Bucky just blushes harder, trying to cover the bruises with his other hand.

“Oh, my god,” Jess hisses, a slightly manic smile on her face.  “Did Josh see that?”

“I had a hoodie on earlier,” Bucky explains sheepishly, looking at his shoes.

“Seriously, what caused that?”

“Rope.”

“Well, don’t let Mrs. Lewis see that.  She’ll complain to Josh.”

Bucky nods and ducks away to grab his sweatshirt.

For the rest of the week, Bucky makes sure to wear long sleeved shirts to work.  He falls into the comfortable routine of re-tracing the words on his chest in his own shaky handwriting, snapping a quick picture, sending it to Black Widow, and heading to work.  Black Widow sometimes starts a conversation, asking Bucky questions about himself that he doesn’t think twice about answering.  On Thursday, Bucky sends a picture of himself in nothing but his boxers.  Bucky is pulling on his shirt when Black Widow replies.

_You’re wearing far too many clothes.  Send another._

Bucky feels himself growing warm at the command.  He nearly trips over himself in his haste to pull off his clothes.  He takes a couple pictures, each from a different angle, picking his favorite from the lineup.  He’s naked, turned slightly, hair messed up and one eyebrow cocked as he looks down at his phone.  Satisfied, Bucky sends the picture.

 _Muuuch better_ , Black Widow replies, followed immediately by, _Have a good day at work._

It’s around eleven when Josh pulls Bucky aside to tell him that he has a new client.

“Really?” Bucky asks, surprised.  He had thought that Josh would be black listing him for a few weeks.  Usually, when Bucky gets written up, Josh doesn’t give him any new clients for a bit.  From the look on Josh’s face, Bucky can tell that he’s thinking the same thing. 

“She requested you by name,” Josh replies with a sour look.  There’s something in the angry glint of his eye that’s beyond simply having a new client request Bucky.  It makes Bucky go stiff.

Josh reads through the intake form quickly before directing Bucky to the front lobby to pick up the new client.  When Bucky comes around the corner near the front desk, his jaw nearly hits the floor.

Natasha leans casually against a wall, looking down at her phone.  She wears tight, all black workout clothes, her hair pulled up in a messy bun.  Her eyes are down, so she doesn’t notice all the other eyes on her.  Nearly every person in the lobby stares at her, and Bucky almost can’t blame them.  He can’t tear his eyes away.

“Natasha?” Bucky croaks, voice cracking.  Yesterday, Nat had asked Bucky where he works.  He had told her without a second thought because the absolute last thing he expected was for Black Widow to show up _here_.

Nat tucks a hair behind her ear and glances up at Bucky.  A wicked smile breaks across her face, and for a terrifying moment, Bucky feels like a rabbit in a trap, staring down a hunter. 

“Hello, Bucky,” Nat purrs.

Bucky swallows hard, mouth suddenly dry.  Because there’s a look on Nat’s face that he can’t discern.  Like she is taking glee in a secret, one she isn’t going to let Bucky in on.  Bucky is so conflicted, he can barely think.  Part of him is horrified, but another, larger part is elated.  Seeing Nat here is odd, but it’s also almost erotic.  Just the memories of the last time Bucky had seen her, and the knowledge of what is written on his chest makes Bucky shiver.  All these people around them, staring at Black Widow but they’ll never have her.  Her name is on _Bucky’s_ chest, nobody else’s.  Everything about her, from the way she stands to the way her eyes rove hungrily about to the way her shoulders roll back as she struts towards Bucky is entirely _dominant_.  Do these other people see?  Do they know that she’s a predator chasing down her prey?

Bucky still hasn’t moved, he hasn’t said a word.  Black Widow draws even with him, shoving her phone into the bag slung over her shoulder.  She pauses, glancing up at Bucky devilishly.

“Shall we?” she asks.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky breathes.

Bucky let’s Nat lead him through the gym, even though he’s the one who should know better where to go.  She makes a beeline to the lockers in the back, the eyes other patrons following her as she goes.  Bucky catches a glimpse of the fuming glare of Josh from across the room, and suddenly he understands why Josh was so frustrated before.  Nat is exactly the type of client that Josh takes for himself.

Nat unloads her things in the locker before turning to look at Bucky.

“So, where do we begin?” she asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“That’s up to you,” Bucky replies with a shrug.

“You’re the trainer,” Nat points out.

“But you’re the one paying,” Bucky retorts.

“True,” Nat replies, cocking her head.  “Can you teach kick boxing?”

“Kick boxing?” Bucky repeats.

“That’s what I said,” Nat says, voice low.

“I-I can teach kick boxing.”

Black Widow’s finger lands on Bucky’s chest, on the exact spot where the B of her name is written under Bucky’s clothes.  It’s a brief, almost imperceptible movement that ends as quickly as it had begun, but Bucky knows it was purposeful.

“Lead the way,” Nat says.

Bucky leads Nat towards the open floor rooms on the east side of the building.  As they go, they pass Jess, whose eyes go wide.  She looks Nat up and down before glancing at Bucky with a questioning stare.  Bucky shrugs and tries to hurry past Jess.  Jess knows she can’t interrupt Bucky’s session and huffs loudly before turning away. 

Most of the classrooms are already full of Zumba or cycling classes, but there’s a small one near the back that’s empty.  Without pause, Black Widow toes off her shoes and socks and pads barefoot towards the punching bag in the corner of the room.  She begins to roll her weight back and forth, shaking out her limbs.  Cautiously, Bucky approaches.

“So…would you consider yourself a beginner in kickboxing?” Bucky asks slowly.

Nat shoots Bucky a glance, shrugging quickly before spinning expertly and landing a roundhouse kick that sends the heavy bag swinging on its chains.

“I take that to mean that you’re experienced?” Bucky laughs.

Nat grabs the bag and grins.

“In more ways than one,” she replies with a gleam in her eye.

In a quick, fluid movement, Nat crosses the space between them and throws a punch at Bucky’s head that he only barely bends out of the way of. 

“Did you just try to punch me?” Bucky gasps, struggling to regain his balance. 

Black Widow laughs, rounding on Bucky like a lion circling its kill. 

“I know you have better moves than that,” Nat says before darting towards Bucky again.  This time he’s ready and he blocks Nat’s punch, countering quickly.  But the redhead is fast and she grabs his wrist and spins him hard until his back _thunks_ against the polished wood floor, knocking the breath out of him.

Nat crouches over Bucky, still laughing.

“Come on,” she dares.  “Don’t go easy on me.”

She offers Bucky her hand, pulling him to his feet.  He doesn’t pause, he lunges towards her, sweeping for her legs.  He catches her off guard, and she stumbles to the ground.  Bucky presses his advantage, but Nat does a kip up and steps out of his reach.  Bucky overextends, exposing his back, and Nat kicks him hard in the hip.  Bucky rolls forward, tumbling in a summersault and landing on his feet.  He turns quickly to face Nat, who stands in a defensive position, fists up.

“Is that the best you got?” Nat asks, panting slightly.

“Funny,” Bucky replies.  “I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

Nat gasps and laughs, shaking her head in a warning.

“You shouldn’t have said that,” Nat says cocking her eyebrow.

“Well, then come make me regret it,” Bucky dares.

Nat charges towards Bucky and they spar.  At first, Bucky thinks that he’s winning.  But then, a moment later, he’s on his back again, and his arm is being wrenched backwards until he taps out.  They separate and climb to their feet.  This time, Bucky is the one to charge first.  He holds his own for longer, getting Nat against the wall.  At first he thinks he has her trapped, but then she kicks off the wall and gets her legs around Bucky’s shoulders.  She swings her weight and throws Bucky to the ground, getting him into a choke hold and forcing him to tap out again. 

“So you showing up at my work,” Bucky pants.  “Not something that I expected.”

Nat cocks her head, grinning slightly.

“Well, when I saw that picture you sent this morning, I just _had_ to see the subject in real life,” she reaches out, hooking a finger through his waistband.  “And I definitely like what I see.”

Bucky blushes as Nat releases him, rounding on him again.  Bucky is already out of breath, sweating hard.  He wishes he could take off his shirt.  Nat is an expert fighter, something that is surprising Bucky more than it should.  Of course she’s good at this, because she’s seemingly good at everything.  She barely seems to even have a hair out of place and she’s ready to go again.

Bucky unleashes his full strength in the next round.  The weight, the strength, and the speed of his robotic arm is considerably greater than that of his right arm.  Bucky almost never uses his left arm to its full potential, but as Black Widow unleashes an onslaught of perfectly placed attacks, Bucky has no choice than to counter with his left arm’s full force.  He catches Nat around the middle and throws her to the ground.   She immediately sputter in pain, breathless, and Bucky balks.

“I’m sorry!  I’m so sorry!” Bucky gasps, reaching down for Nat.

A pair of legs wind around Bucky’s arm and a moment later, he’s been thrown to the ground, arm in a full body lock. 

They spar again and again.  Bucky finally wins one, forcing Black Widow to tap about after getting her in his lower hold.  But mostly, he is simply fascinated by the way Nat moves.  He knows that she isn’t going full strength against him.  Her hits land but they’re always pulled, they never hurt as much as they should for how well they’re placed.  Regardless, her every move is fluid and quick.  She’s light on her feet, always on her toes, constantly crowding Bucky and causing him to stumble. 

Bucky’s a good fighter.  From his youth street fighting, to boxing underground in high school, to the specialized training he had received in the Army, fighting is something that Bucky has always excelled at.  At least, he _thinks_ that he excelled at it.  He’d always been one of the best fighters in the group.  But Natasha, a 120 pound woman, has him on the ropes.  He’s exhausted but Nat hasn’t even broken a sweat.

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?” Bucky pants, hands on his knees as he struggles to catch his breath. 

“Here and there,” Nat shrugs, bouncing on her toes.

When Bucky looks up at Nat, he notices the glass windows along the front wall.  A small crowd has gathered in the hall outside, watching Bucky and Nat spar inside.  It’s mostly patrons, but Jess is in the group, eyes narrowed, making Bucky blush. 

“We seem to have acquired an audience,” Bucky says, nodding at the window.

Nat twists to look at the crowd, shaking her head slightly.  She steps up into Bucky’s space.

“We could give them a real show,” Nat purrs, her body blocking the view of her hand from the crowd as she runs a finger along Bucky’s crotch. 

Bucky steps away quickly, blushing harder and turning away from the wide eyes outside.

“Yeah, I’d _definitely_ get fired then,” Bucky laughs sheepishly, even though the thought of ripping off Nat’s clothes and fucking her right here in front of all the soccer moms, meatheads, and his fellow employees is making Bucky feel _incredibly_ turned on.  The thought of people watching that, of them seeing the words written on his chest as Black Widow takes him without holding back, is making Bucky’s lungs feel awfully tight.  Jesus Christ.  Is he an exhibitionist?

Nat doesn’t give Bucky any more recovery time, dashing across the space between them and attacking once again.  Bucky huffs and blocks, countering before Nat can press the advantage.  He puts distance between them, keeping an eye on the wall, not wanting to be trapped.  Nat moves lightning quick, crossing the distance and going for Bucky’s legs this time.  Bucky nearly dodges her, but she gets his left leg causing him to stumble.  Nat gets behind him, kicking out hard and tipping Bucky forward onto his hands and knees.  Bucky rolls to his side, ducking a brutal punch as he tries to spring to his feet.  Nat is on him though, getting a leg around his throat and using her body weight to throw Bucky to the ground.  Bucky is able to get out of her hold, twisting out of her reach and finally getting to his feet.

Nat gets up more slowly, eyes laser focused on Bucky.  Staying low, Nat charges again, first getting Bucky around the middle, then twisting behind him and kicking off a nearby weight rack to get herself up above Bucky’s shoulders.  Bucky’s _never_ seen anybody fight the way Nat does.  She uses her small frame to her advantage, and doesn’t let a heavier opponent press her into a tight spot.  Bucky gets his arm around Nat’s thigh and swings her towards the wall.  He hears the breath hiss from her lungs and her body loosen as she collides with the drywall.  Bucky turns again and throws his body to the ground, Nat still holding him around the throat.  She’s neutralized Bucky’s left arm.  It’s trapped between her shockingly strong thighs and Bucky swings his fist blindly over his shoulder in a desperate attempt to free himself.  Dumb move, because when he turns to try to aim a punch, Nat gets his throat in a tight grip with her leg. 

Bucky sputters and spasms as Nat moves quickly, fluidly, turning her body in a move that ends up with her straddling Bucky face to face.  At first, Bucky fights against her, but then he catches glimpse of the wicked look in her green eyes.  Bucky goes still, struggles to catch his breath, to even think straight with Nat’s long, muscular body hovering just inches above his own.

But then Nat moves, as sudden as before, and she’s on her feet, reaching a hand out to Bucky.  A bit saddened, Bucky takes the offered hand and is hauled to his feet.  Nat looks at her watch.

“Well, I do believe that’s my 45 minutes,” Nat observes.

“Already?” Bucky asks, disappointed for the first time by the idea of a training session ending.

“Already,” Nat replies.

She doesn’t wait for Bucky, simply turns and stalks through the door, ignoring the small throng of people watching her from the hall.  Bucky rolls his eyes and moves to follow, but before he can, Jess comes barreling around the corner.

“Who was that?” Jess demands.

“New client,” Bucky answers immediately, putting up his hands.

“New client, my ass,” Jess retorts.  “That’s Natasha, isn’t it?”

“Uhm…” Bucky says, blushing hard as he drops his gaze.

“I knew it!” Jess snaps triumphantly.  “Dude, she is _so fucking hot_.  Why didn’t you tell me she was, like, the peak of human evolution?”  Bucky shrugs.  “No wonder you’re into BDSM.  I’d be into BDSM if she asked me to.  Hell, I’d be into grand theft auto if she asked me to.”

Bucky grins to himself.

“Yeah, don’t worry.  She doesn’t need to steal cars, she’s rich as hell,” Bucky says slyly.

“Oh, _fuuuck_ you,” Jess glowers sarcastically. 

“Friends with Tony Stark, too,” Bucky adds with an impish grin.

“Now I know you’re just making shit up.”

Bucky shakes his head as he begins to head towards the door. 

“I’m serious,” Bucky replies with a knowing nod.  “I’ve met him.  They live together.”

“Seriously, Barnes, I get it.  You’re super into your new girlfriend.”

Bucky laughs.  He wouldn’t believe it either if he were Jess. 

It takes some convincing to get Jess to stand down from approaching Nat herself this very moment.  Instead, she just stands across the room glaring as Bucky approaches the locker where Nat is pulling on a coat and letting down her hair.

“You’re coming to the class this weekend at the studio, right?” Black Widow asks, glancing at Bucky.

“I-I am?” Bucky stutters, having absolutely no idea what she’s talking about.

“You are,” Nat replies with a curt nod.  “Info’s on fetlife.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky says, nodding.

Nat holds her bag out to Bucky.

“Walk me to my car,” Black Widow directs.

Bucky takes the gym bag from Nat, slinging it over his shoulder.  Nat smiles at him and brushes by.  As Bucky follows her through the gym, he catches both Josh and Jess staring at him.  God, Josh better not give him shit for this. 

Nat doesn’t head to the parking lot, instead walking around the building to the back.  Parked near a concrete holding wall, a shining black ’69 Corvette Stingray.  Bucky is so busy staring at the muscle car that he stumbles to a stop when Black Widow puts a palm on his chest.  She digs through the bag at Bucky’s hip until she finds the keys, opening the car and unlocking the trunk.  Bucky drops the gym bag inside, turning to look at Black Widow.  She leans against the car, watching Bucky appreciatively.

“That was fun,” she says, arching her eyebrow.

“What?  You kicking my ass multiple times in front of a live studio audience?” Bucky laughs.  “Yeah, that was a great time.”  

“Yeah, that,” Nat replies, nodding and barely holding back a chuckle.

“I enjoyed every minute of it,” Bucky grins, and it’s true.  He’s exhausted.  And he was absolutely beaten again and again by someone who, by all accounts, shouldn’t be able to go toe to toe with a freaking cyborg of his size.  But he still took perverse enjoyment in the entire thing.  “One day, you’re gonna have to really tell me where you learned to fight like that.”

“And one day, I will,” Nat promises with a small smile, and Bucky feels warm at the assurance of Black Widow in his future. 

Nat straightens, stepping in close to Bucky.  She kisses him carefully on the lips, just once, quickly pulling away.  But her fingers brush gently along Bucky’s cheekbone, and his eyes fall closed as he breathes in her scent.  Her body is warm.  She smells like salt and cedar.

“I’ll see you Saturday,” she breathes.

And then she’s gone, slipping away from Bucky and throwing open the door of the Corvette.  Bucky steps back as the diesel engine roars to life, rumbling loudly.  Nat puts the car into gear and screeches out of the parking spot.  With a cloud of exhaust, Black Widow is gone.


	9. Reward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for some smuuuuut.  
> CW: Rough BDSM, behavioral correction, yelling at someone for small mistakes

The studio Black Widow referred to, as it turns out, is a place called the Shibari Art Studio downtown.  The salt on the sidewalk crunches under Bucky’s boots as Bucky pulls his scarf tighter and approaches the plain looking building.  There’s nothing on the exterior but a number, the number Bucky is looking at on his phone.  He’s in the right place.  The glass of the front door is covered in impermeable black fabric and when Bucky tries the handle, he finds the door locked.  Cautiously, Bucky knocks.

The door swings open to reveal a skinny submissive in a thick leather collar, shivering shirtless at the gust of cold wind.  He waves Bucky in hurriedly.  The small front room is dimly lit, and the guy tells Bucky to take off his shoes once he’s paid his $5 admission.  Bucky does as he’s told and slips past the thick curtains that separate the small front room from the studio beyond. 

The studio is a large, well-lit room with padded floors and two rows of various shaped metal rings hanging from the ceiling.  There’s a vaguely Japanese décor to the place, accented by large framed photographs of people intricately suspended in breathtaking angles.  The place is currently _packed_.  It looks like a fireworks show in a park, with every square inch of the floor being covered in blankets.  People lounge on the ground, casually chatting amongst themselves in various states of undress.  It takes Bucky a moment to even find a face he recognizes. 

Black Widow sits in the corner of the room on one of the only couches.  Beside her sits Wanda and at her feet is Clint.  Bucky is surprised at how casually they’re all dressed.  Clint wears only a pair of sweatpants, while both Wanda and Black Widow wear leggings and loose fitting shirts.  Bucky makes his way carefully towards them, struggling to find footfalls between the blankets and bodies.  Nat finally catches glimpse of him, smiling quickly. 

“Good morning,” Bucky greets brightly.

“I see you found the place,” Nat observes, looking up at Bucky.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Bucky eyes the couch, but he notices Black Widow’s hand move.  She points to the ground beside Clint, and Bucky nods, quickly taking a seat on the lush blanket at Black Widow’s feet. 

“How you doing, man?” Clint greets, lounging on the blanket with his weight against his elbows and his legs outstretched.

“Good,” Bucky replies.  “What is this class about?”

“Jiai ties,” Clint answers.

Bucky chuckles, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I’ve got no clue what that means,” he laughs.

“Good thing all you need to do is be a rope bunny today, then,” Clint smiles.  Bucky still isn’t precisely sure what that means, but Clint is already pushing ahead.  “Wanda is learning shibari kinbaku and Maria is a great teacher.”

“Shibari Kinbaku is…” Bucky begins cautiously, looking hopefully at Clint.

“Japanese rope bondage,” Clint finishes with a nod.

The short haired woman whom Bucky had met at the first house party named Maria, and her balding submissive Phil, take their places at the front of the room.  Maria announces that the class will begin in five minutes, and the room begins to quiet down.  Clint turns in place, grabbing a large leather bag Bucky hadn’t noticed before.  When he unzips it, Bucky finds it’s full of jute rope.  Clint unloads the bag, hank by hank, as Wanda and Nat slide from the couch onto the blanket.

“Take your shirt off,” Black Widow directs, moving fluidly until she is sitting cross-legged directly in front of and facing Bucky. 

Bucky nods and immediately begins to pull off his jacket.  The studio itself is, thankfully, sweltering.  Half the people in the room are entirely nude.  As Bucky sheers off his shirt, Black Widow pulls her hair into a ponytail.  Bucky forgets, for a moment, about the declaration written on his chest.  Black Widow’s eyes linger on the words, re-written several times in Bucky’s own awkwardly angled handwriting, and Bucky feels himself blush, glancing around the room.  Nobody seems to notice or care however, and for a sudden moment, Bucky actually feels a bit disappointed.  He wants people to notice, to see, to understand, to be jealous. 

“Do you know what a jiai tie is?” Black Widow asks in a low voice.

Bucky shakes his head.

“Use your words.”

“No, ma’am,” Bucky says.

“It means ‘hands over heart.’  You’ll have your arms crossed over your chest.  Are you alright with me tying you like that here?”  

Bucky looks around.  He should be a little nervous about the idea, but the atmosphere of the room is putting him at ease.  Everybody looks relaxed and happy.  Some couples cuddle against each other intimately, while others chat quietly next to each other on the floor.  The room is warm and smells like pinewood.  It’s a light, easy atmosphere and Bucky knows that nobody is looking at him or caring what he does.   

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky replies.

Black Widow smiles, brushing her fingers along Bucky’s cheek.  Bucky blushes and glances down at his hands, grinning to himself.  Beside them, Clint and Wanda are in a lively, friendly conversation as they unravel the hanks of colorful rope.  Wanda hands the red and black dyed rope to Black Widow, who makes a small pile next to her.  Out of his peripherals, Bucky sees Black Widow’s hands moving quickly.  It takes him a moment to realize what he’s seeing. 

It’s sign language.  Clint watches the motion, replying in kind.  It’s a quick, silent conversation between Nat and Clint, barely noticed by anyone but Bucky.  Clint laughs and glances away, blushing, while Black Widow just smiles a self-satisfied grin.  Bucky wants to say something, but he bites his tongue. 

“Alright, everybody!” Maria calls loudly from the front of the room, drawing everyone’s attention.  “Hello.  Welcome to our class.  My name is Maria, this is my submissive Phil.  Today, we’re going to be teaching you the Jiai tie, which is an alternative, hands in front of the chest tie.  This is good for bottoms with shoulder or arm injuries who can’t get their hands behind their back.  And, while in the form we’re going to teach you today, it’s not normally suitable for full suspension, I’m sure a few of you rope experts out there will be able to see how it can easily be updated for weight bearing.”

Maria continues to talk about the tie; the history, the namesake, the basic knots to be used.  Bucky tries to absorb as much of the information as possible.  In all honesty, he thinks he’s actually learning something.  Maria walks through the knots and the form, demonstrating each knot on a wooden ring at the front of the room.  Bucky knows most of the knots, he had learned them in the Army during Sapper training, and the pieces are starting to come together.  For half a moment, he’s almost disappointed when Maria directs the class to pair up and start on the tie.  Then, Black Widow’s hands are on Bucky and all of his discontent dissipates like mist.

The moment Black Widow begins, with how quickly and effortlessly she not only ties the first knot but jumps ahead to the second, Bucky knows that she knows what she’s doing already.

“You know how to do this,” Bucky observes quietly.

Black Widow smiles and shrugs but doesn’t answer.  The class moves forward, and Bucky concentrates on the way Black Widow’s hands move.  He watches each knot as it’s tied, identifies it in his head, tries to catalog it in his memory.  The Jiai tie itself is fascinating as it comes together, reminding Bucky of an intricate spider web.  Black Widow, true to her namesake, weaves it expertly, starting in the middle and working her way outwards.  One moment, Bucky feels like, with the way he has his arms casually crossed across his chest, he could easily escape the binds.  A few minutes later, even his fingers have been woven into the web, and he realizes how tightly he’s bound, not able to budge an inch in any direction.  Black Widow’s fingers brush against Bucky’s skin, even the metal parts.  Each metal digit in woven with rope, trapping his left hand against his shoulder.  After a while, Bucky stops watching Black Widow work and simply closes his eyes, relishes the feeling of her fingers on his skin, the sensation of the rope running along his skin or tightening into his muscles. 

Every so often, Wanda twists around where she’s sitting and asks Black Widow to help her with a knot.  Bucky catches glimpses of Clint every so often, similarly tied, though Wanda’s weaving doesn’t seem as tight or as neat as Natasha’s.  Black Widow finishes her tie quicker than most and simply stretches herself out beside Bucky, back against the couch.

“Can you get out of it?” Nat asks with a wicked grin.

Bucky puts on a show of struggling against the rope, but he truly is stuck.

“No, ma’am,” Bucky says, feeling himself grow warm.  God _dammit,_ what is it about being trapped by this woman that so thoroughly turns Bucky on?

“Let Wanda see,” Nat directs, waving towards Wanda.

Bucky fights to turn himself on the spot, nearly toppling over once before Black Widow catches him and, with a fist full of rope, yanks him around.  Wanda leans in close to Bucky, examining the rope web that entraps him.

“Well, shit,” Wanda sighs in a thick accent that Bucky still can’t place.  “I did all of my half hitches the wrong way.”

“Let me see,” Nat replies, motioning to Clint who moves _much_ more fluidly while tied than Bucky.  Nat brushes her finger across some of the knots, and Bucky can already see the difference between Wanda’s half hitches and Natasha’s.  “Well, you’ve folded the rope under, which is fine for ground work and fine for this tie.  But if you were modifying this for suspension, you’d definitely want them leading the other way.”

Wanda nods and bites her lip, leaning back towards the work she is doing.  When Bucky looks back at Black Widow, he finds her eyes on him, moving across his body hungrily.  There’s something raw in her gaze, the same thing Bucky sees every time Black Widow looks at him, that leaves him feeling deliciously helpless and exposed.  He wishes beyond anything that he could hear what she was thinking, but she remains entirely, infuriatingly silent.  When she notices Bucky watching her back, she leans towards him, her lips moving to Bucky’s ear.

“I _love_ having you tied up,” she breathes, sending chills down Bucky’s spine as her fingers run up his thigh, towards his groin.  “So helpless, it gives me such _terrible_ ideas.”

Bucky shivers bodily at the thought.

“Whatever you like, ma’am,” Bucky croaks.

Black Widow smiles and leans even closer.

“You were a good boy all week,” she continues.  “Did exactly as I asked.  You earned a reward.”

“I did?”

Black Widow leans away so she can look Bucky in the eye.  For a long moment, she simply looks like she’s searching for something.  Bucky stays perfectly still.

“You did,” she purrs.

Without thinking, Bucky spasms against the ropes, frustrated suddenly by their presence.  How does she do this to him?  In a crowded room of people, Bucky feels like they’re the only two people on Earth.

“What’s my reward?” Bucky asks, mouth dry.

Black Widow shifts suddenly, swinging a leg over Bucky and straddling his lap.  Bucky barely has a moment to breathe before she is twisting against him, sinuous and filthy, and leaning her face towards his.  Bucky thinks she’s going to kiss him, but instead, she puts two fingers against Bucky’s lips.

“Patience is a virtue.”

Bucky groans, dropping his head back as Black Widow climbs to her feet.

“I’ll be back,” she says lightly, nodding at Wanda.

When Bucky looks around again, he sees eyes on him.  Strangers nearby drop their gazes, caught guilty staring.  But Clint doesn’t look away.  Instead, he laughs.

“You sure you can handle her, James?” he asks, again moving easily despite his restraints.

“I would sure like to try,” Bucky laughs, voice sounding wrung. 

Clint shakes his head, chuckling.

“Hard part hasn’t even begun, man.”

Bucky cocks his head, wanting to ask Clint what he means.  But Wanda suddenly slaps Clint across the face.

“Stop moving!” Wanda barks.

Clint laughs again, nodding apologetically and settling against the blanket.

“Sorry, Domina.”

Black Widow returns a moment later with bottles of water in her hands.  She drops them onto the blanket and sits down in front of Bucky.  She leans in, immediately beginning to untie Bucky.  He’s genuinely disappointed by that.

“You’re coming to lunch with us after this,” Black Widow says.

“Is that a question or a command?” Bucky asks.

“The question is, do you have any other plans for the rest of the day?”

“I do not, ma’am,” Bucky replies.

Black Widow smiles, eyes on her work.

“Then the command is that you’re coming to lunch with us after this.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky chuckles.

It takes longer for Black Widow to untie Bucky than it did to tie him.  He reclines against the couch as she works.  The group talks lightly amongst themselves as Maria announces that she’ll be walking around for one on one pointers.  Nat pauses to inspect Wanda’s work, pointing out small corrections before kissing Clint carefully on the forehead.  Bucky simply enjoys the sensation of the rough jute running along his skin, over and over.  It’s painful, almost burning, but somehow addicting.  He likes the pain, it reminds him that he’s still human, even if parts of him aren’t. 

“So, where are we going for lunch?” Bucky asks.

“Café Déviant,” Nat replies.

“I’ve never been.”

“It’s a kink friendly coffee shop nearby.  It’s got the _best_ all-day brunch menu.”

“ _The best?_ ” Bucky mock-gasps. 

Nat punches Bucky playfully in the shoulder.

“I hope you’re ready for an omelet to change your life,” Nat laughs.

“Are the omelets themselves kink-friendly?” Bucky asks, cocking his head.  “Or is it just the coffee?  I’m a little fuzzy on the details.”

“Okay, jack-ass.  Keep talking and I’ll leave you tied up.”  

“If I’m tied up, how am I going to experience this life changing omelet?”

“Oh, we’d be doing that mama bird style,” Nat promises, trying not to laugh.

“Alright, I take it all back,” Bucky laughs, shaking his head. 

“So spitting food into your mouth, that’s a hard limit?” Nat jokes, cocking her head.

“You better believe it.”

Nat smiles to herself but doesn’t respond, instead picking frustrated at a knot she’s been trying to undo for the last minute or so.  She gets it eventually and it’s not long before Bucky is entire untied.  Unlike the last time Bucky had been tied up, this position had been comfortable, and Bucky isn’t sore or stiff or bruised.  The class is wrapping up and within a few minutes, everyone is starting to pack up their belongings, thanking Maria, and yanking back on their clothing.  Clint is making quick work of looping the tangled mess of discard rope into neatly tied hanks, so Bucky opts to grab up the blanket and fold it neatly.

“My car is here,” Bucky points out once they’ve all put on their shoes and are bracing themselves for the cold outside.

“The Café is nearby.  We’ll pick it up later,” Nat says with a shrug.

So instead of heading towards Bucky’s Jeep, Black Widow leads the group towards an Escalade down the street.  Clint jogs ahead, keys in hand, to open the driver’s side door.  At first, Bucky thinks that Clint will be driving, but instead, he hands the keys to Nat as she steps inside the vehicle.  Clint snaps the door shut behind her before winding around to the other side to open Wanda’s door.  Bucky just watches, a bit slack-jawed, unsure what to say or do until Clint just nods at the rear door.

“It’s unlocked, man,” Clint informs Bucky.

Not wanting to remove his flesh hand from the warmth of his pocket, Bucky grabs the car door with his left hand as the car hums to life.  As he settles into the rich leather seats, Bucky watches Nat fiddle with the heater.  Bucky spots a heat control for the rear in front of him and he quickly turns the temperature all the way up as Clint slides in on the other side.  With everyone in, Nat pulls away from the curb.

From the front, Nat turns on Halestorm again, and Bucky is starting to sense a pattern.  He catalogs that bit of information away in his brain for later as the sounds of “I Get Off” fills the cab.

Nat wasn’t kidding about the Café being close.  One a warmer day, Bucky probably would have enjoyed the walk, but he’s grateful for the warmth of the car today.  The place seems like a typical coffeehouse on the outside.  A plain wooden sign with a coffee mug, steam rising up to form a heart, hangs over the entrance.  Café Déviant is painted on the window.  Bucky braces himself for the cold and climbs out of the car as Clint darts about opening doors again.  As they approach the door of the coffeehouse, Bucky catches notice of a warning taped on the inside of the small inset window.

_Interior contains sexually explicit art, literature, and themes._

_It is recommended that minors be accompanied by an adult._

_All are welcome!_

When the door swings open with a pleasant ring of a bell, Bucky realizes that the warning had not been kidding.  The atrium is a round room with book shelves covering almost every inch.  The sections are labeled with stickers that say things like “Polyamory,” “Anal Sex,” “Consent and Sexual Education for Teens,” and “Erotic Fiction.”  What parts of wall don’t have book cases contains artwork.  Fully accurate statues of naked torsos and thighs twisted with rope, Barbie Dolls acting out various sexual activities from the inane to the twisted, charcoal sketches of group sex, dildos decorated with glitters or studs or feathers, black and white artsy photos of various kinky sex acts.  Strewn about are plush couches and mismatched coffee tables.  The entire room is warm and aromatic.  It’s also crammed with people.  Some sip coffee or eat from various colored plates.  Others work on laptops.  Even more simply lounge on the couches, reading.

“This place is awesome,” Bucky gasps, stopping short.

Bucky catches glimpse of a chalkboard outlining a schedule.  Classes, speeches, discussions, almost every night.  Dominant’s Dialog on Tuesdays, Switches Symposium every Wednesday, Sub Committee on Thursdays.  Open Discussion on Photography and Rope is this Saturday, followed by Cross Dressing and Relationship Dynamics on Sunday. 

“You coming?” Clint asks, clapping Bucky on the shoulder and pulling him out of his own overactive mind.   

At the counter, they’re greeted by a pretty girl with bright pink hair who smiles sunnily at them and asks what they’d like.  Bucky reads the chalkboard overhead, and Nat was right, the food here does sound fucking delicious. 

“I’ll have the Down South Omlette with hot sauce on the side and an Irish coffee, no whipped cream and a tomato juice,” Black Widow orders, already knowing what she wants.  She motions to Clint.  “He’ll have the Chauvinistic Pig, a cappuccino with almond syrup and an orange juice.”

Clint barely blinks at Black Widow ordering for him, instead casually browsing through his phone.  Wanda orders next and then the bubbly barista looks at Bucky.  He orders something called the Morning Woodstocker Breakfast Burrito, a plain coffee with cream and a scotch drink called Kilt Check.  Black Widow doesn’t hesitate to pull out her credit card and pay for the entire order.

As they find somewhere to sit while their orders are prepped, the front door chimes and Black Widow calls to someone.

“Thor!”

Bucky looks up to find the bulking blonde man that had entered the party at the same time as Bucky two weeks ago.  No perfectly tailored suit today, but Thor still looks impeccable in his canvas jacket, blue jeans, and an inexplicable umbrella.  Maybe it had something to do with the fact that this man is built like a god, with biceps the size of Bucky’s head bulging dangerously against Thor’s jacket sleeves.  When Bucky had seen Thor before, he had been nervous and it had been dark.  But in the light of day, Thor is clearly a specimen of perfection.  Thor looks like the kind of man that Bucky had been obsessed with becoming in high school.  Bucky’s in great shape, but he’s nothing compared to this massive 6’7” lumberjack with a perfect blonde ponytail of hair and matching, expertly trimmed beard.

And, of course, a half step behind him is the woman Bucky had seen with Thor that first night.  Similarly, seeing her here in the light is like seeing her for the first time.  She’s as drop dead gorgeous as her dominant, dressed in a perfectly cropped leather jacket and high waist jeans.  When she walks, she rolls her shoulders back and strides as confidently as Thor does.  The two of them approaching is like watching an incoming thunderstorm rolling towards you.  Bucky expects to be struck by lightning at any moment.  A heavy leather collar surrounds the woman’s neck and she brushes her brown hair back as if trying to display the thing proudly.  These two are like something out of a myth.   

“Bucky,” Nat says, pulling Bucky from his own thoughts, “this is Thor and Siff.”

Bucky extends his hand, and they both shake it with bruising grips. 

“Clint,” Thor greets in a booming voice.  “I hope you are well.”

“Sure am, big guy,” Clint replies.  “Good to see ya.”

“Doubly.  Wanda!  It has been too long!”

On and on they go, chattering about until Thor excuses himself to go order.  Siff settles herself into one of the couches that their small group has claimed and immediately launches into a conversation with Black Widow about an upcoming Tough Mudder she wants Nat to join them in.  Thor returns and joins in the goading and it’s not long before the food is brought out.

Every so often, Black Widow’s eyes flick to Bucky for only a moment.  She’s watching him, and Bucky isn’t entirely sure why.  So, instead of digging into his delicious looking burrito, he watches Clint for clues.  Clint waits until Nat and Wanda have picked up their forks and dug in to eat.  Bucky finally cuts into his own food, glancing up once to find Black Widow watching him again.  It’s a bit awkward eating this messy burrito while on a deep couch off a short table, but as soon as Bucky takes a bite, he just deals with the pain in his back because _good god_ , it’s fucking good. 

“You were right, ma’am,” Bucky practically moans as he chews.  “This is life changing.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Black Widow corrects before smiling just a bit.  “And I told you so.”

Bucky gins to himself and leans back over his plate.  It doesn’t take long for him to clean it off.  Bucky sips the coffee and his scotch, finding both of them perfect as well, if not a little strong.  By the time everyone is finishing their meals, Bucky is full, warm, content, and just a little buzzed from the drink.  As everyone chats and finishes up their food, Bucky looks around the café again.  He’s close enough to read the spines of some of the books now, and there are titles that are definitely catching his eye in the “History” section.  Bucky does a double take when he follows his line of sight and finds a man in a nearby armchair, a book in his hands and his feet up on the back on a kneeling woman.  Nobody else in the café seem to notice or care.  Bucky looks around at other patrons and finds a different man typing on his computer while a younger man kneels on the ground beside him, a leash leading from his collar sitting across the other man’s lap.

“We can expect you at Asgard tonight, yes?” Thor asks, distracting Bucky.  When Bucky turns back, Black Widow’s eyes are still on him, flicking away to look at Thor as soon as Bucky notices.

“We will be there in style,” Black Widow promises.  

“Fantastic!” Thor exclaims before taking a sip out of an enormous mug of beer, entirely out of place in the quiet coffee shop.  Seriously, this dude is like a cartoon.

As the plates are cleared away, Siff pulls Bucky into a conversation.  Once Bucky mentions that he was stationed at Fort Drum in New York, Siff starts asking him about rock climbing at Ferris Lake of all things.  Another round of drinks is ordered as the snow begins to fall outside.  Siff’s mentioning of rock climbing had pulled Thor’s attention, and now the discussion has turned to the last mountain that Thor and Siff climbed together, one that, coincidentally, Nat had climbed a few years back.  Bucky rolls his eyes, add rock climbing to the list of things that Black Widow is good at.

All the while, Black Widow watches Bucky like a hawk. 

When the drinks are gone and Thor and Siff have whisked away to another engagement, their group once again bundles up to head to the car.  Before they move to the door, however, Black Widow puts a hand on Bucky’s arm.

“You’re coming back to the house with us now,” she commands in a quiet voice, looking hard into his eyes.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky says complacently, happy to be invited along.

“Then we’re going to a party tonight.”

A party.  That gets Bucky, honestly, a bit excited. 

“Oh boy.”

“And then you’re staying the night.”

Bucky’s stomach flips with excitement.  This time, when he speaks, he can’t help but nod enthusiastically.

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathes.

“Let’s go get your car.”

Nat drives them back to the studio, Bucky’s Jeep the lonely vehicle on the snow-swept street.  Bucky follows the Escalade to the house, shivering in his frigid cab.  Instead of parking in the yard as he had done at the party, Clint jumps out of the back seat to run to Bucky’s window and tell him that he can park in the garage.  Bucky leaves his shabby Jeep beside a shiny red Oldsmobile 442, his poor, reliable Jeep looking like a mess beside the beautifully maintained classic car.  Bucky shakes his head and jogs towards the rest of the group.  Clint carries an armful of bags, which Bucky offers to help with.  Clint shrugs and says he’s fine.  Nat and Wanda chat casually about something benign, their red pony tails waving in nearly synchronized circles as they walk ahead.  At one point, when Bucky rushes forward to open the door for them, Nat leans back and playfully slaps Wanda’s ass.  Wanda jumps, giggles madly and calls Nat a bitch.

Just within the door, Jarvis stands perfectly still with a tray in hand.  He wears nothing but a thong.  Bucky would have thought the guy to be scrawny, what with the number of knit sweaters and collared shirts he seems to like to wear, but apparently he was hiding a relatively muscular build under all those shapeless layers.  He keeps his eyes straight ahead, shoulders rolled back, one hand at a perfect angle behind his back.  On the silver tray he holds is a martini.

Bucky looks about, unsure exactly how to react.  Wanda, still giggling madly, dashes through the door grinning wide.  But the moment her eyes fall on Jarvis, her grin vanishes and her spine stiffens.  As Clint and Nat come through the door, Wanda approaches Jarvis slowly.  Jarvis keeps his eyes straight ahead, doesn’t move, barely breathes.  Clint and Nat stop short once through the door, both watching intently.  Bucky feels the shift in the air, something is about to unfold.

Wanda walks a complete circle around Jarvis, looking him up and down with a critical eye.  When she comes around to the silver platter, she stops.

“Is that a _thumb on my tray?_ ” Wanda hisses viciously.

Immediately, Jarvis moves, shifting his hand so that he holds the tray with his palm from the bottom.

“I asked you a question, _slave_ ,” Wanda snarls.  “Was that thumb on my tray?!”

“No, Domina,” Jarvis breathes, eyes blinking rapidly.

“Are you calling me a liar?!” Wanda shrieks.

Jarvis takes a sharp intake of air.

“No, Domina.”

From Bucky’s left, Black Widow steps forward.

“We both _clearly_ saw a thumb,” Black Widow says in a low and dangerous voice.  Jarvis’s eyes flit towards her, breaking their unmoving gaze at the wall ahead.  “ _Did you just look at me?!_ ”

A hand lands on Bucky’s upper arm, making him jump.  He turns to find Clint, laughing quietly.

“Close your mouth, man,” Clint says, shaking his head.  “You’ll catch flies like that.  Come on.”

Bucky doesn’t want to tear his eyes off of whatever is happening at the back door, but Clint is dragging him towards the next room.  When Bucky looks over his shoulder, he sees Wanda lifting the martini from the tray a second before Black Widow grabs Jarvis roughly by the back of the neck and forces him to his knees.

“What did he do wrong?” Bucky asks breathlessly.

“Something about a thumb?” Clint shrugs.

“That’s it?  Wanda got that mad about a thumb?”

“They don’t call her the Scarlet Bitch for nothing,” Clint points out.

From the other room, Bucky hears Wanda scream before something goes crashing loudly to the ground.

“Pick it up!” Bucky hears Black Widow roar.  “Pick it up!”

“I’m really confused about what is happening,” Bucky admits.

“Saturday’s are high protocol days for Jarvis,” Clint tries to explain.  When Bucky’s strained face doesn’t relax, Clint claps him on the shoulder.  “Chill, man.  He loves this shit.”

Clint begins unpacking things from the bags into a closet as Wanda marches past, dragging Jarvis by his hair as he scuttles on his knees, trying to find purchase with his hands.

“Do you think I’d suddenly start accepting mistakes from you?” Wanda is snarling as they pass.

“No, Domina,” Jarvis pants, struggling desperately.  “Never.”

Bucky’s heart is racing.  He wipes his palms on his jeans and turns to look at Clint.

“Can I, like-…can I go watch that?” Bucky asks dumbly.

Clint shrugs again.

“They correct him in the common room, lots of people like to watch,” he says.

On suddenly shaking knees, Bucky turns to follow Wanda and Jarvis down the hall.  Clint just laughs at Bucky’s eagerness and continues unpacking the bags.  When Bucky gets to the common room, he slows up, wanting to stay out of the way.  He puts his back to the wall and simply slides to the ground, eyes wide.

Wanda has dragged Jarvis to the middle of the room.  Wanda squats down, flipping up a piece of the carpet to reveal a metal ring.  She grabs something up from the hidden compartment and a moment later, she is yanking Jarvis’s face to the floor.  With lightning quick fingers, she secures the ring on Jarvis’s collar to the ring on the ground, trapping him against the floor.  Jarvis struggles to make the position comfortable as Wanda straightens and walks a slow circle around her straining, panting submissive.

Black Widow reappears, a large bag in hand.  She doesn’t even notice Bucky as she struts past, dropping the bag and inch in front of Jarvis’s face.  Bucky can hear Jarvis begin to whimper and whine.

“Scarlet, how many times have we had to retrain this slave?” Black Widow asks in a dismissive tone as she presses her foot down against Jarvis’s forehead.

“I’ve honestly lost count, Headmistress,” Wanda replies.  “How many times has it been, slave?”

Jarvis struggles to speak for a moment too long.  Wanda kicks him hard in the hip.

“She asked you a fucking question, slave,” Black Widow snaps.

“T-twelve, Domina,” Jarvis answers in a shaking voice.

“Twelve?” Wanda cries.  “Twelve fucking times?!  And it still hasn’t stuck?!”

Jarvis’s entire body spasms.

“Answer her!” Black Widow demands.

“No, Domina, it hasn’t stuck,” Jarvis finally manages.

“You’re still making mistakes?” Wanda continues.

“Yes, Domina.”

“Why they fuck haven’t you learned your lesson after twelve times?” Wanda cries.

“Be-because I’m just a worthless, fucking slave, Domina,” Jarvis answers loudly.

Black Widow crouches down, grabbing a handful of Jarvis’s hair, yanking his neck back at a painful angle so that he looks up at Wanda.

“That’s right,” Wanda agrees darkly. 

“I think we’re going to have to make the punishments harsher, Scarlet,” Black Widow suggests with an absolutely evil grin.

“I think that’s an absolutely fantastic idea, Headmistress,” Wanda replies, matching Black Widow’s grin.

Black Widow reaches over and unzips the bag, yanking it open.  Jarvis struggles to see what is inside, but he can’t from the angle.  Both women look down at the contents, smiling manically.

Bucky finally manages to tear his eyes away from the scene.  He’s warm, breathing hard, and getting _incredibly_ aroused.  With shaking fingers, Bucky peels off his coat.  He looks around the room, trying to calm himself down, only to find that Clint had been right.  On the mezzanine above, Bucky can see Bruce seated in an armchair, Tony at his feet.  A bit further down, Alias sits on some sort of throne, legs spread, writhing as Danny licks her pussy.  Cage is perched behind her, and Alias reaches up, bending backwards to kiss him deeply. 

When Bucky finally looks back at Black Widow and Wanda, they both have instruments of pain in their hands.

“Put your ass in the air, slave,” Wanda directs.

Jarvis struggles for a long moment, but finally gets his knees under him and his ass as high as her can.  Wanda doesn’t wait, pulling back a massive wooden paddle and smacking it blistering hard across Jarvis’s rear.  Jarvis shouts in pain, only for both Black Widow and Wanda to shout, “ _Shut up!_ ”

Jarvis does his best to keep his mouth shut as Wanda hits him again, and again, and again.  When his back begins to bend and his ass begins to sink from exhaustion, Black Widow leans down with a prod in her hand and shocks Jarvis in the side.  Jarvis yelps and returns to form.  Wanda continues to hit Jarvis as Black Widow crouches down and hovers the cattle prod over Jarvis’s face.  Jarvis whimpers and tries to move away the best he can, but Black Widow simply shoves the prod into his nostrils. 

“Are you going to keep making mistakes, slave?” Black Widow asks coolly.

_Smack!_

“No, Headmistress,” Jarvis whimpers, eyes screwed shut.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you!” Black Widow barks.

Jarvis forces his eyes open.

_Smack!_

“You want to know what I think?” Black Widow says.

“What, Headmistress?”

“I think that you make mistakes on purpose,” Black Widow says.  Jarvis begins to shake his head, trying to dispute it, but Black Widow just shoves the prod sharper into his nose.  “ _I think_ you want to be punished.  I think that you’re a whore for punishment.  Is that true?”

“No, Headmistress.”

_Smack!_

“I don’t care what you think,” Black Widow spits.  She turns to look at Wanda.

_Smack!  Smack!  Smack!_

“What do you think, Scarlet?  Is your slave a punishment whore?”

Wanda pauses her paddling, a thoughtful look on her face.

“Oh, _definitely_ ,” she grins.  She looks down at Jarvis.  “Let me hear you say it slave.”

_Smack!_

Jarvis winces.

“I-I am a whore,” he says quietly.

“That’s not what I said,” Black Widow snarls, twisting the prod.

“I’m a punishment whore,” Jarvis manages a little louder this time.

“You are,” Black Widow agrees.  “Now, say it correctly this time.”

_Smack!_

“This-this slave is a punishment whore,” Jarvis stutters.

“Louder!” Black Widow shouts.

“This slave is a punishment whore!” Jarvis says as loudly as her can.

_Smack!_

Black Widow withdraws the prod, instead grabbing Jarvis’s hair and wrenching his head upwards to look at the mezzanine.

“Now say it to all these fine people,” Black Widow commands, an absolutely terrifying gleam in her eye.

“This slave is a punishment whore!” Jarvis yells.

_SMACK!_

Black Widow releases him and straightens, grabbing something from the bag as she goes.  Wanda pauses, dropping her arm and eyeing whatever Black Widow has in her hand.  Jarvis, similarly, struggles to see what Black Widow has.  Finally Bucky realizes that it’s dildos.  Not just dildos, but bright red matching dildos in leather strap-on harnesses.  Black Widow hands one to Wanda and they both grin wildly as they untangle the straps and step into the things, pulling them up over their tights.

Bucky’s chest feels tight, he can barely breath.  But he can’t tear his eyes away.  As he watches Black Widow, he feels like he’s staring into the face of God.  Nothing about what she does is an act.  No, the rest of her life is an act, _this_ is the real Black Widow.  Strict, cruel, sadistic, hard to please.  And Bucky fucking _loves_ it.  As her discerning eye moves across Jarvis’s skin, the air of absolute possession twists like cigar smoke around Bucky’s body.  Everything about her, from her face to the way she holds her body to the sharp, snapping movements she makes as she tightens the strap-on without even looking exudes confidence and control. 

Wanda releases the chain holding Jarvis to the floor, and Jarvis struggles on sore limbs to right himself.

“On your knees,” Wanda snaps.

Jarvis fumbles slowly onto his knees, and before he can even steady himself, Black Widow grabs the back of his hair hard and yanks his face close to the massive red cock that now protrudes from her groin.  Bucky digs his nails into his palm to try to distract himself from the erection that is becoming almost painful in his lap.

“Get this good and wet, slave,” Black Widow directs.  “Because it’s the only lube you’re going to get.”

Black Widow shoves her crimson cock into Jarvis’s slack mouth, immediately pressing it to the back of his throat, making him gag and sputter.  Black Widow pulls out a few inches, only to shove it back down his throat a second later.  Jarvis struggles, choking and spasming.  Black Widow, her hand still in his hair, twists her fists until Jarvis looks up at her with watering eyes.

“Your cock sucking form is horrible, slave,” Black Widow sneers.

She yanks her cock free from Jarvis’s mouth.  The man slumps forward, panting, but Black Widow doesn’t give him a break.  She drags him by the hair until his face hits Wanda’s matching red cock.  Wanda lines up and Black Widow holds Jarvis still as Wanda shoves hard into Jarvis’s mouth.

“Show me you know how to suck a fucking cock, slave,” Black Widow barks.

Slowly, Jarvis shifts his posture until he is even on his knees and his hands are in a box behind his back.

“Finally, you do something right,” Black Widow scoffs.

Bucky watches Wanda face fuck Jarvis until there is droll and snot running down his face, until his eyes go a bit cloudy and his body goes still, until he stops trying to fight it.  Bucky watches until he glance back at Black Widow to find her staring directly at him.  For a terrified moment, Bucky is a deer in the headlights, frozen and gaping into Black Widow’s green orbs.  Then Black Widow grins mischievously and looks away.

She reaches for something on the floor.  When she picks it up, Bucky sees that it is the tray that Jarvis had been holding earlier.

“Put your arm out!” Black Widow barks.

Jarvis complies immediately.  Black Widow balances the tray there.  From her bag, she pulls a metal bowl and what looks like small weights.  Bucky realizes where this is going because he’s seen it in a porn, and _god_ the very fucking thought of it makes him want to come in his jeans.

The bowel clinks onto the tray, followed by several weights.  Bucky sees Jarvis’s eyes go wide as he glances over at the bowl, his mouth stuffed with red cock.  One by one, Black Widow adds the weights as Wanda picks up the pace of the face fucking.  Jarvis’s eyes flit nervously back and forth between the bowl and Wanda.

“Position three,” Black Widow barks.

Slowly, carefully, as Wanda continues to cram her cock down his throat, Jarvis moves.  He lifts himself up and one cautious leg at a time, he moves until he is on his feet, squatting low, and struggling to balance, keeping his free hand at the small of his back the entire time.  As soon as he’s steady, there’s a loud _clink_ as another weight is added to the bowl.

Already, Jarvis’s arm is getting tired.  He bends it slightly at the elbow and Bucky can see his bicep spasming from holding his arm out straight for the last five minutes.  Preemptively, Black Widow grabs a whip out of the bag.  Not a moment later, the bowl goes clattering noisily to the ground, followed by the tray.  Black Widow whips Jarvis across the back and he seizes desperately, shouting around the cock in his mouth.

“Pick it up!  Pick it up!” Wanda shouts.

Jarvis drops forward onto his hands and knees, panting hard as he struggles to collect the scattered contents of the tray.  He fills the bowl again, this time putting the tray in his other hand and moving back into the crouched position on shaking legs.  When Black Widow whips him across the back, the tray goes clattering to the ground again.

“Same arm,” Black Widow commands in a low voice, catching onto Jarvis’s attempt to hold the tray with his rested arm.  Jarvis makes a low, keening sound, moving a bit more slowly as he gathers up the items once again.

When he is finally in position once again, Black Widow hands the whip to Wanda and rounds on Jarvis, shoving her thumbs into his mouth and pulling his mouth open wide.  Jarvis sputters a bit but goes willingly as Black Widow once again crams her bright red cock down his throat.  _Clink, clink, clink_.  More weights are added to the bowl.  It takes less time for Jarvis’s muscles to fail this time, and the bowl goes clattering to the ground within minutes.  When Wanda whips him, she giggles madly and doesn’t stop.

“Put him on the table,” Black Widow directs.

Wanda grins wickedly, whip falling loose at her side.  Jarvis leans forward, but doesn’t collapse, keeping his form perfect as he struggles to catch his breath.  His muscles shake and spasm of their own accord.  He doesn’t get much of a chance to breathe, because Wanda grabs him by the collar and drags him towards the large oak table nearby.  Jarvis is hauled to his feet and shoved hard onto his back.  They push him along the table until his head and shoulders hang from the side.  True to Black Widow’s word, there is no lube in sight.  Instead, as Wanda yanks Jarvis’s thong off and shoves his legs back, Bucky sees a plug buried inside him.

“Oh, look at this, Headmistress,” Wanda purrs.  “Somebody is ready for us.”

Black Widow comes around, cocking her head to look at the small jeweled head of the plug.

“Maybe you are learning something, slave,” Black Widow praises.  “But, remind us what you are again.”

“This slave is a punishment whore,” Jarvis repeats obediently.

“Exactly, so we’re not just going to fuck you, we’re going to punish you.”

Jarvis shivers.

Black Widow reaches down and pulls the plug free from Jarvis’s ass and Wanda immediately lines up her cock and shoves in.  Jarvis whimpers at the sensation, wriggling uncomfortably until Wanda smacks him hard on the ass and shouts at him to stop.  Meanwhile, Black Widow collects the tray, the bowl, and the weights.  She also grabs the cattle prod.

“Arm,” Black Widow snaps.

Jarvis reluctantly puts his arm out and Black Widow puts the tray in his hand.

“Do you think that you can learn how to hold a fucking tray correctly, slave?” Black Widow asks.

“Yes, Headmistress,” Jarvis whimpers as Wanda fucks into him.

“Do you think that you could hold a tray correctly for, say, fifteen minutes?”

“Yes, Headmistress.”

The bowl drops onto the tray, followed again by the weights.  Jarvis stares hard at the bowl, trying to hold it steady as Wanda thrusts vigorously into him.

“You drop it,” Black Widow says, holding up the prod as she turns the thing up to the maximum level.  Jarvis stares aptly at the thing as Black Widow moves it down his body. 

Jarvis shakes his head, understanding where Black Widow is going.  Desperately, he pleads.

“No, no, no, _please_ , Headmistress” he whimpers.

Black Widow stops, the end of the prod at the exposed tip of Jarvis’s cock.

“Oh, yes, yes, yes,” Black Widow retorts.  “One shock for every single weight that you drop.  Understood?”

Jarvis is panting, crying, shaking.  His eyes flit between Black Widow, Wanda, and the cattle prod.  Wanda goes still and Jarvis looks down at her.

“Are you ever going to put a thumb on my tray again?” she asks seriously.

From the mezzanine, Bucky hears laughter.

“No, no, no, no, no, Domina!” Jarvis cries.  “Never again!”

Two more weights fall into the bowl.  Black Widow grabs Jarvis by the hair, shoving her own cock into his mouth again.  Black Widow wails into Jarvis’s throat while Wanda thrusts into his ass.  Both women laugh and bark at Jarvis, but Jarvis seems to be slipping away.  His eyes are half hooded, staring blankly somewhere above him, jaw loose.  When he does answer his mistresses, it’s in airy, half answers.  Bucky can see the exhaustion setting into Jarvis’s body, but that’s not all it is.  Slowly, a goofy grin becomes plasters across Jarvis’s face as he stares unfocused at nothing while Black Widow and Wanda use him mercilessly.

And, _god_ , Bucky half wishes he was in Jarvis’s place.  He isn’t exactly sure how he’d feel about the verbal abuse, but there’s no hiding the fact that his cock is intently interested in what is happening before him.  With every passing minutes, Bucky can see the blissed-out expression on Jarvis’s face deepening.  Even when the tray goes crashing to the floor finally, and Jarvis’s seizes and shouts at the pain of the prod on his genitals, the clouded over quality doesn’t leave Jarvis’s eyes. 

As promised, after fifteen minutes, Black Widow grabs the tray out of Jarvis’s hand and tells him to get on his knees.  Jarvis is slow moving, climbing down from the table like he’s never used his limbs before.  He blinks unevenly, a sheen a sweat across his naked body as he collapses onto his knees.  Wanda approaches him, bending at the waist.  Bucky expects more abuse, but instead, the moment is loving and tender.  Wanda cradles Jarvis’s face carefully, whispering something to him that makes Jarvis shudder and smile dopily.  He nuzzles his face against Wanda’s hand and nods at whatever question he’s been asked.

“Are you ever going to put a thumb on my tray again?” Wanda asks, a little louder this time but still so quiet that Bucky struggles to hear her.

“No, Domina,” Jarvis slurs.  “Never again.”

“I think you oughta consider your punishment for a little while,” Wanda continues even louder, straightening but keeping her palm on Jarvis’s cheek.  “An hour in your cage.”  Jarvis nods silently.  “And then you’ll return to your duties.”

Obediently, Jarvis drops to his hands and begins to crawl.  Moving slowly, he makes his way towards a coffee table nearby.  Bucky is shocked when Wanda unfolds the sides to reveal a human-sized cage hidden beneath.  Wanda opens the door and Jarvis crawls inside on shaking limbs, immediately collapsing against the pile of blankets within.  Wanda pets him carefully as she fiddles with the lock in her hand.

Bucky almost jumps five feet in the air when a hand lands on his shoulder.  Black Widow chuckles at his surprise.

“Enjoy the show?” Black Widow asks in a low voice.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky replies, nodding vigorously.

Black Widow eyes the obvious erection between Bucky’s legs.

“I’d say so.”

Bucky blushes and moves to hide his hard on, but Black Widow’s hand curls around Bucky’s upper arm, stilling him.

“Don’t you want your reward, Bucky?” Black Widow asks, cocking her eyebrow.

Bucky is surprised he doesn’t come right there and then, what with the way Black Widow’s syrupy voice caresses his name and the things Bucky has just seen her doing.  He can barely get a coherent thought together in his head.  He’s talked to this woman every day on the phone, he’s spent a modicum of time with her, but after witnessing that scene, Bucky feels like he’s seeing Black Widow for the first time, as the true primal predator that she is.  The animalistic, dangerous energy that Bucky had only just begun to see small increments of had just been on full display.  It was like a watching a tornado build, and now that tornado is coming Bucky’s way.

And, _Jesus fuck,_ does Bucky want to be sucked in and whisked away to Oz.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky answers in a shaking voice.

“Follow me.”

Black Widow doesn’t wait for him, she heads up grand staircase.  Bucky fumbles to his feet, chasing after her.  When Bucky follows her into her bedroom, Black Widow turns and pins him against the door.  Without pause, she reaches down and grabs the edge of Bucky’s shirt and hoodie and yanks them over his head.  Bucky puts his arms up obediently and lets himself be stripped.  Immediately, Black Widow’s eyes fall on the words scrawled across Bucky’s chest.

“You’ve been a _very_ good boy this week,” Black Widow praises, running her fingers across the words, erupting Bucky’s chest with goosebumps.

Green eyes snap up to meet Bucky’s own.  He holds his breath as Black Widow searches his face.  Whatever she’s looking for, Bucky supposes she finds it.

“Do you want to belong to me, Bucky?” Black Widow asks.

“ _Yes_ ,” Bucky gasps immediately.  He swallows, clears his throat and tries again.  “Yes, ma’am.  More than anything.”

“Are you sure you understand what that means?” Black Widow presses, brow pinching.  “Did you do the checklist?”

Oh, _fuck._

“No, ma’am, I’m sorry,” Bucky replies.  “I forgot about it.”

“That’s alright, I didn’t give you a deadline for it,” Black Widow says in a soothing voice, running her finger along Bucky’s collar bone.  “I’ve been watching you today,” she admits.

“I noticed,” Bucky grins.

“You were good all day,” Black Widow praises.  “So I have a…proposition.”

Bucky swallows hard.

“Yea, ma’am?”

“You come to the party tonight in my collar.  All you have to do is follow a couple of easy rules.”  Bucky’s ears are already ringing, since the moment he heard the word _collar_.  “If you do good, and if you like it, we can begin training.”

“T-Training?”

“Mmmhm.”

“Like…like what you were doing with Jarvis downstairs?” Bucky hates how shaky his voice sounds right now.

“A little bit like that,” Black Widow replies, cocking her head.  “But not really.”  She seems to be thinking about it for moment, gaze unfocused on Bucky’s chest.  “Training is different for every sub, but it will start small and easy.  Two training sessions every week until I am satisfied.  If you make it through that, you will be collared and…” Black Widow sinks her nails into Bucky’s chest, “…you will belong to _me_.”  Black Widow looks Bucky in the eye.  “Is that something you want?”

“More than anything,” Bucky breathes. 

Black Widow smiles.  Not a maniacal smile or a devious smile, but a genuine, happy smile.  It’s radiant and beautiful and Bucky wants nothing more than to draw that smile out of Black Widow as often as he can for the rest of his life. 

“Good,” Black Widow purrs, her hands pressing hard against Bucky’s chest until his back hits the door.  “Then here’s your first lesson; when you do as I ask, you get a reward.  You did exactly as I asked all week long.  Now you get a reward.”

Black Widow’s hand moves between Bucky’s leg and cups his still desperately hard cock.  The sound that wrings from Bucky is a strangled, guttural groan.

“Take off your clothes and get on the bed,” Black Widow commands in Bucky’s ear.

Bucky almost trips over himself in his haste to obey.  He fumbles with his belt and kicks off his shoes, stripping down before hauling himself into the middle of Black Widow’s massive bed.  Black Widow moves slowly around the bed, eyes on Bucky, looking him up and down hungrily, making Bucky shiver.

“Have you ever been _fucked_ before, Bucky?” Black Widow asks in a syrupy voice.

Bucky swallows hard, sweat breaking on his forehead. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says quietly.

Yes, Bucky’s been fucked.  And he had _loved_ it.  Nobody knows, not even Jess.  It’s nothing Bucky’s ever acted on again.  It had been years ago, only Bucky’s second deployment.  Back when he was just a Specialist, back when he was still just a combat engineer, not Special Forces.  Back when deployments were nothing but long stretches of loneliness and boredom punctuated by acrid interludes of death and terror.  Bucky’s battle buddy, the person Bucky spent a year sharing a 10x10 room with, the person Bucky eventually ended up sharing a bed with, was SPC Rumlow.  After so many months of being together every single hour of every single day out of sheer necessity, after completing dangerous and deadly missions clearing roads, after watching their friends die from roadside bombs, eventually, finding comfort in each other was the easiest thing Bucky had ever done on a deployment. 

There was never any sort of romance to what Bucky and Rumlow had.  Instead, it usually consisted of Rumlow fucking Bucky into the mattress as Bucky bit down on the pillow until both of them were numb.  All it was was fulfilling a need, a deep, inexorable need as a form of rough catharsis for them both.  Of course, nobody could know.  This was before 2011, and both of them would have been kicked out and sent home.  The deployment ended and Rumlow went back to his wife and Bucky never saw or heard from the guy again.  The last Bucky had heard, the guy eventually met a bomb and got half of his face blown off.

“Good,” Black Widow purrs, drawing Bucky out of his own head.  Bucky half expects her to ask for details, answers Bucky doesn’t really feeling like giving.  But she doesn’t, instead moving to her armoire and throwing open the doors.  Bucky sits still in the sweltering warm room, the fireplace nearby burning brightly as always, unsure what to expect.  Black Widow extracts something from a drawer and shuts the doors. 

When she approaches the bed, she drops something heavy onto the sheets.  Bucky looks down and spots yet another strap on.  This one is all black, however, and considerably smaller than the monster Black Widow had been wielding downstairs.  Bucky’s breath hitches in his throat when he realizes what Black Widow means to do.

Black Widow fiddles with her phone and music begins to fill the air.  A dark, deep guitar riff building up a woman singing sensually.

_I’m the girl you’ve been thinking about._

_The one thing you can’t live without._

_I’m the girl you’ve been waiting for._

_I’ll have you down on your knees._

_I’ll have you begging for more._

Bucky watches, transfixed, as Black Widow begins to slowly peel off her clothes.  First her shirt and her bra, exposing her perfect breasts and dark nipples.  Then she bends over deliberately and peels her tights and underwear down, twisting her body in display as Bucky watches.  When she straightens again, fully nude, she grabs the strap on from the bed and unfolds the straps.

“How long has it been?” Black Widow asks as she shimmies into the harness.  “Since you were _fucked_?”  God, Bucky loves the way she says that word.

“Uhm,” Bucky says, struggling to unstick his mouth.

_You don’t know how hard I fought to survive_

_Waking up alone when I was left to die_

_You don’t know about this life I’ve led_

_All these roads I’ve walked_

_All these tears I’ve bled_

“A long time,” Bucky finally answers.  “Eight, maybe nine years.”

Black Widow tightens the straps of the harness with quick, decisive motions, the leather snapping against itself. 

“That is a long time,” Black Widow agrees.  “Open that drawer.”

Bucky crawls across the sheets to open the drawer on the bedside table that Black Widow indicates. 

“Get the lube.”

Bucky spots the bottle and snatches it up, closing the drawer and perching on the sheets once again, unsure what to expect as he eyes the black dildo between Black Widow’s legs.  Black Widow puts her hands on her hips, looking Bucky up and down again.  Bucky wants to touch his cock _so badly_ because Black Widow is an absolute vision.  Entirely naked but for the harness, her hair is down around her shoulders and her eyes are laser focused on Bucky. 

“Lay on your back,” Black Widow directs.

Bucky does as he’s told, easing himself onto his back against the mattress.  Black Widow moves around the bed, eyes never leaving Bucky’s skin.

“Put the lube in your hand.”

Bucky uncaps the lube and pours the chilly gel into his palm. 

_I’m the one that you need and fear._

_Now that you’re hooked, it’s all becoming clear._

_That all your judgments that you placed on me,_

_Was a reflection of discovery._

“Touch yourself.”

Bucky takes his cock into his slicked up hand, shivering violently at the relief of finally touching his member.  It’s hard to maintain control, but slowly he begins to move his hand across his cock, jacking himself carefully.  Black Widow’s eyes bore into his skin as she licks her lips subconsciously. 

“Turn over,” Black Widow directs.

Bucky flips himself onto his front, pushing up onto his hands and knees.

“Don’t stop touching yourself,” Black Widow reminds, stepping closer.

Bucky grabs his cock again as a hand lands on Bucky’s neck, pressing his face to the sheets.  He shudders again, harder this time, anticipation making him feel almost ill.  When a finger brushes against Bucky’s hole, he nearly jumps out of his skin, remembering suddenly the plug that had been inside him the last time he had been in this bed.  Just that memory makes Bucky’s chest constrict, and he struggles to breathe through his nose as he feels cold lube landing on his sensitive hole.

Black Widow presses a finger inside Bucky, reminding him to not stop touching himself.  Bucky’s metal hand clenches in the sheets as he’s breached.  She moves her digit in and out of Bucky slowly, working him open carefully.  Bucky wills himself to relax, concentrates on the sensation of his hand on his cockhead.  It’s not long before Black Widow has added another finger. 

The discomfort is quickly giving way to something else.  Bucky’s breath comes in shaking bursts.  When Black Widow withdraws her fingers, Bucky actually hears himself _whimper_.  He swallows hard, again concentrates on his cock as Black Widow applies more lube.  She continues her ministrations, slowly pressing Bucky open until she brushes a finger against Bucky’s prostate.  Bucky seizes, gasping at the sensation, pressing back against Black Widow because he wants it again.  Black Widow adds a third finger and spreads her fingers wide before hooking them all over Bucky’s prostate.

Bucky shudders and moans, a filthy, desperate sound he didn’t know he was capable of making.

“Turn over.”

Reluctantly, Bucky turns back onto his back.  As he does, he catches the look in Black Widow’s eyes.  Her pupils are entirely _blown_.  Massive, black pools reflecting Bucky’s own similarly aroused face.  Black Widow grabs Bucky impatiently, tired of waiting for him to get comfortable, and yanks him bodily to the edge of the bed.  Bucky didn’t think it was possible for him, a 220 pound guy to be manhandled by someone half his size, but Black Widow has no issue pressing Bucky’s legs back and lining up her black cock.  Bucky’s chest rises and falls frantically now.  The look of concentration in Black Widow’s eyes is mesmerizing.  And when she presses inside Bucky, Bucky’s head falls back in absolute bliss.  The sensation is full, and stretched, and tight, and _perfect_. 

“Look at me, Bucky,” Black Widow directs.

Bucky opens eyes he hadn’t realized had closed.  Black Widow stares keenly down at Bucky, perfectly still, taking Bucky in inch by inch.  Bucky feels exposed but he doesn’t care.  In fact, he thinks that he likes it.  He likes the absolute _hunger_ in Black Widow’s eyes, he likes that when she looks at him, Bucky feels actually seen.

Slowly, Black Widow rocks her hips and Bucky moans again.  As her cock moves inside Bucky, it feels almost too big, even though Bucky knows that it isn’t.  Black Widow pulls out of Bucky and thrusts back in, over and over, shallow at first but gradually going deeper.  Her pace is still desperately slow, and she holds her weight on her hands against Bucky’s legs that are folded against his chest.  With every thrust, Bucky feels his body relaxing inch by inch, starting in his core and moving outwards.  It’s a marvelous, wonderful feeling, the very feeling he had loved when Rumlow fucked him.  The sensation of fullness, contentment.  It’s like sinking into a warm bath.

Black Widow grabs Bucky’s left thigh, crossing it over his body and pinning Bucky like that.  At first, Bucky isn’t sure why but then, _he gets it_.  From this angle, Bucky can feel every single movement.  From this angle, when Black Widow thrusts back into Bucky, the head of her cock crashing right against Bucky’s prostate. 

Black Widow pulls out, slathering her cock once more with lube.  When she does, Bucky keens, needy and low.  Black Widow simply chuckles, slicking up her cock before sliding perfectly back inside Bucky.  But this time, her pace quickens.  Faster and faster until it’s something almost brutal.  Bucky’s entire body has gone weak and Black Widow folds herself over Bucky, holding up her weight wither her hands against his outer hip.  Bucky adjusts his chest so that he lays more on his front and, _good god,_ that’s good.

Bucky is fucked into the mattress, eyes closed, body relaxed, panting through his nostrils and totally engrossed in the feeling.

With deft hands, Black Widow flips Bucky entirely over, pulling herself free from him for only half a moment.  Bucky fumbles on heavy, numb limbs as Black Widow hitches a leg up onto the bed and slams back into Bucky, doggy-style.  Bucky collapses most of his weight forward, arching his back and pressing himself back to meet Black Widow.  He realizes suddenly how loud he’s being.  From Bucky’s mouth escapes loud, satisfied moans, or desperate, airy pleas for _more, more, more_. 

Black Widow pounds into Bucky, leaning forward and grabbing a handful of his hair.  Bucky grins like a fool as she wrenches his head back, arching his back sharply.  But Bucky goes without a fight, body spread too thin to fight against it.

“Do you like your reward?” Black Widow pants in Bucky’s ear.

“Oh, _god,_ yes, ma’am,” Bucky moans as response.  “I fucking _love it_.”

Black Widow grabs Bucky’s flesh arm and yanks it out from under him, using the momentum to flip him back over.  She shoves at him until he takes the cue and shimmies backwards on the mattress.  Black Widow climbs fully onto the bed, her knees spread as she hauls Bucky’s hip up into her lap.  Bucky lets himself be tossed about like a rag doll, slipping too far into pleasure to fight it.  When Black Widow’s cock slams back into Bucky’s body, he moans with relief and sags against the comforter. 

Black Widow rolls her hips, shoving even deeper inside Bucky as she leans back, hands behind her on the bed as she thrusts.  With hooded eyes, Bucky watches her.  She kicks a leg out, uses it for leverage, and buries herself even deeper inside Bucky.  Bucky’s eyes fall closed.  His brain feels so fuzzy that it barely registers when Black Widow takes hold of his cock.  He does notice when her palm rubs across his exposed head though.  Bucky curls forward, crying out as he looks up at Black Widow. 

Readjusting herself once again, Black Widow leans over Bucky, wrapping one arm around him as she continues to fuck into him, as she begins to stroke his cock deliciously.  It’s all so much, Bucky doesn’t know how long he’s going to be able to hold off his orgasm.  For a terrifying moment, Bucky fears that Black Widow might do what she did to him last time.  Deny his orgasm, keep him on a string.  Terror subsides though, because honestly, she can do whatever she wants to Bucky, he can’t bring himself to care.  All he knows is that he wants to be at Black Widow’s mercy, whatever that entails.

It’s with that thought that Bucky’s orgasm hits him.

“ _Can I come?!_ ” Bucky gasps, unsure if he’d be able to stop himself if Black Widow says no.

“Yes,” Black Widow hisses in Bucky’s ear.

Shuddering against the cock inside him, Bucky’s orgasm explodes through his body.  His orgasm stretches on for an immeasurable moment, his whole body taught as a guitar string until he finally collapses against the sheets.  His cum splashes across Black Widow’s chest and Bucky watches with wide eyes as Black Widow rubs it into her skin before bending over Bucky and kissing him hungrily.  She continues to thrust into Bucky, once, twice, as Bucky shudders through the last of his orgasm.  When Bucky falls still, he feels the dildo slide out of him, causing Bucky to groan.

Bucky’s brain isn’t working.  Coherent thoughts are few and far between.  Happy, tired, satisfied.   

Black Widow collapses in the bed beside Bucky, smelling of sex and of rosewood.  Bucky’s chest twinges painfully when he turns to look at her.  Because Black Widow is perfect.  Because she’s beautiful.  Because she’s something out of a dream.  Because Bucky might feel himself starting to love her, maybe just a little bit.

Bucky is so incredibly screwed.      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying the story! If you thought that the Cafe or the studio sounded sweet, I based them both on places that I've actually been in St Louis. If you're interested in the lifestyle, there are little gems like that all over the country, all you gotta do is look. 
> 
> The song playing in this chapter was Whore by In This Moment. One of my favorites on my bdsm Playlist. 
> 
>  
> 
> Here's what the Jiai Tie looks like
> 
>  


	10. Enfold

Black Widow doesn’t lounge in bed for long.  She lays on her side, stretched out like a cat, running her fingers across Bucky’s sweat soaked chest and abdomen, nothing but silence between their naked bodies.  But the moment Bucky has caught his breath, Black Widow shimmies off the bed effortlessly.  She unclips the strap-on harness at her hip and it hits the hardwood with a wet _smack_.  Pausing in a mirror to pull her sweat-locked hair from her neck, Black Widow eyes Bucky who still lays on the bed, watching her with heavy-lidded eyes.

“I’m going to get cleaned up,” she says, putting her hands on her hips and watching Bucky through her reflection.  “Family Dinner is at 5:30.  We’re going to Asgard at 8:00.”

“What’s Asgard?” Bucky asks with a surprisingly hoarse voice.

Black Widow turns bodily around to actually look at Bucky, leaning against her vanity casually.  Bucky tries to drink in this image.  Black Widow’s naked body, lit by nothing but the firelight across the room casting orange and black dancing shadows across her porcelain skin.

“A club, downtown, owned by Thor and his brother.”

Bucky hums, almost forgetting what he had asked, so distracted by the way Black Widow looks as he is.  Her green eyes narrow, she knows that Bucky is staring at her, but she doesn’t move.   

“So,” Bucky begins vaguely, turning over onto his stomach and putting his hand under his chin.  “What can I expect at this party?”

Black Widow licks her lips slowly, thinking.

“We’ll talk about it after dinner,” she replies.  “Right now, you’re going to find Clint and you’re going to finish that checklist.”

“I am?”

Inclining her head, Black Widow shoots Bucky an unintelligible look.

“You are,” she says.  “Don’t be in here when I come back out.”

Without waiting for a reply, Black Widow turns on her heel and strides across the room to the bathroom.  The door shuts with a click of finality and Bucky releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Bucky collapses hard against the bed, breathing out all the air in his lungs.  His brain is so messed up right now, buzzing with a million questions and even more emotions.  Apprehension, excitement, confusion, infatuation…maybe even love.

No.  Not that.  Bucky shakes his head hard.  Two weeks, that’s all the time that Bucky’s known this vixen.  He can’t love her.  He barely knows her.  And one of the few things he knows is that she would laugh him out of the room if he ever confessed this insidious feeling.  Bucky’s just confusing the sudden acceptance of his flaws and of his secrets by this stranger for something more than it is.  Yeah.  That’s all that it is.

Bucky is covered in sweat and sex.  He can hear the shower in the master bath running and he seriously wishes he had asked to get clean as well.  Instead, he had missed his chance and Black Widow had told him not to be in her room when she comes out.  Reluctantly, Bucky rolls off the bed, wincing as he finds his ass sore.  Moving as gingerly as possible, Bucky collects his clothes, tugging them on and slipping out the door.

It takes Bucky a hot second to find Clint, but he eventually locates him in the backyard, of all places, standing in the snow and firing arrows from a beautifully carved bow into a target 200 meters away.  Bucky just watches, awestruck, for a few minutes as Clint lands bullseye after bullseye, until the bite of the cold air becomes too much for Bucky.

“Hey, Clint!” Bucky calls from the snowy deck above the expansive back yard.

Clint turns, glancing over his shoulder.  Looking right at Bucky, Clint looses an arrow blind.  Of course, the thing hits bullseye.

“You’re pretty good with that thing,” Bucky commends when Clint comes near.

Clint shrugs, glancing down at the bow.

“I oughta be,” he replies cryptically.  “What’s up?”

Bucky explains that he needs another checklist, apologizing for interrupting target practice.  Easy going as always, Clint just shrugs and leads Bucky back inside.

“So…” Bucky begins awkwardly.  He still isn’t sure what to think of Clint.  There’s a metal collar around his neck that was put there by Black Widow.  Yet the guy seems awfully unconcerned with Bucky coming into the picture.  Bucky has no idea what Clint actually thinks about any of it.  “You said the hard part was just beginning.”

Clint gives a look that Bucky can’t dissect.

“Black Widow wants to train you.”

It’s not a question, but a statement.  Bucky nods.

“I figured.  When she likes something, she doesn’t waste any time in taking it,” Clint says, turning to hang his bow on the wall in the mudroom.  “You and I are about to become real close, buddy.”

“We are?” Bucky asks uncertainly. 

Clint turns back around but doesn’t say a word.  Instead, he looks Bucky up and down slowly, with a look on his face highly reminiscent of his Mistress.  He’s dressing Bucky down, evaluating him.  Bucky swallows, unsure exactly what’s happening.  Clint just chuckles.

“I just…want to know what to expect,” Bucky says slowly, shifting his weight.

Clint brushes past Bucky, starting off down the hall.  He doesn’t answer Bucky, waiting until they’re in the kitchen to turn and look at Bucky again.

“Expect to forget everything that you think you know about yourself,” Clint begins carefully, looking Bucky in the eye.  “Expect to feel things you’ve never felt before.  Expect to lose your mind a little bit.  Expect to hate Nat for all the things she’ll do to you, but to want it all the same.  In short, expect to be mind fucked.”

Bucky swallows hard.

“That’s a hell of a hard sell,” Bucky tries to joke, but he just sounds wrung.

“Sure is, man,” Clint agrees, easy going mannerisms returning to him after the briefest bit of sincerity.  He leafs through a folder absentmindedly, finally pulling out a stapled packet of papers.  “There you go, one checklist.”

The paper slides across the table and Bucky grabs it.  Identical to the last one he was given, the one sitting in his house on the fridge because he had taken one look at it and gotten cold feet.  A pen rolls across the table after it.

“Be honest,” Clint adds before giving Bucky a lazy salute and slipping away, presumably back to the yard.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky uncaps the pen and pulls out a stool from the kitchen island.  Once settled, he glances down at the papers before him.

_BDSM CHECKLIST_

_General Information:  I am a Top/Dominant       I am a bottom/submissive_

_Sexual Orientation:  Straight       Gay/Lesbian      Bisexual               Pansexual           Asexual_

_I prefer relationships to be:  Poly-amorous           Monogamous   Doesn’t matter_

_List Medical Conditions:_

Already, Bucky feels his stomach knotting up.  So clinical and impersonal, Bucky thinks.  His pen hovers over the paper.  The first one is relatively easy.  Bucky knows, he’s always known that submission is what he desires.  He hasn’t been able to admit that to himself for a while, but the last few weeks have only shown Bucky that he was right.  He wants to give up control, he wants to give himself over, he wants to lose himself in somebody else.  With a bit too much fervor, Bucky checks that box.

The second one is a little harder.  What is Bucky?  That’s not something that he has ever really thought in depth about.  Most of his life, Bucky’s considered himself straight, but again, he’s harbored secret fantasies.  What had happened with Rumlow…Bucky had just turned 20 years old, still just a kid in a lot of ways.  But it had come so easily, like second nature.  When Bucky had found himself quietly admiring his buddy’s shirtless body from across the room, it had seemed harmless.  When Bucky had thrown his Kevlar onto his cot after a particularly long route clearance and grabbed Rumlow in an almost painful kiss, it had felt natural.  When they had stumbled to the bed, furiously, desperately grabbing at each other, when they had spent long nights tangled in each other on a faded twin mattress while the call for prayer echoed across the desert, when Bucky fell to his knees and undid Rumlow’s belt mere minutes after being relieved from watch, it had all felt so easy.  It hadn’t been dirty or illicit or wrong.

Bucky thinks about Thor, in the restaurant earlier.  Now _there’s_ a guy Bucky wouldn’t mind fucking.  Bucky had spent the greater part of ten minutes just staring at the guy’s chest after Thor had peeled away his outer layers to reveal a too-tight, low cut V-neck.

So, yeah, maybe Bucky wouldn’t mind going twenty toes with the long haired Adonis from the café.  But does that make him…not straight?  And if he admits that here, how exactly is Black Widow going to use that information in the future?

Before Bucky can think too much about it, he checks the box next to “Bisexual” and moves on. 

Bucky selects “Doesn’t matter” for relationships and scrawls, _robotic arm_ under “Medical Conditions” before flipping to the second page.

_Activities List_

_“Limit” denotes hard limit._

_“Maybe”- you would do for only the Top/Dominant._

_“Curious”- you would like to explore this further._

_“Okay” – an interest or like of the activity._

_“Love it!” – you defiantly want this activity._

Bucky cocks his head, seems easy enough.  Down the left column is a list of activities, along the top row the boxes are labeled “Have You Participated?” with a “Yes” box and a “No” box underneath, and “Interest in Participating” with the boxes below labeled from “Limit” to “Love it!”  Seems easy enough.  Bucky looks at the first “Activity.”

_Abrasion_

Fuck.  What does that even mean?  Bucky knows what the _word_ itself means, but in a BDSM context?  Pulling his phone out, Bucky types “BDSM Abrasion” into Google.  The first result reads, _What is BDSM abrasion play? It's using something rough in order to 'wake up' and sensitize the skin._

Alright, easy enough.  Bucky marks that he hasn’t tried it, but checks “okay” under Interest.

_Anal Sex_

Bucky laughs a bit to himself, considering what Black Widow had just done to him less than an hour ago.  Hell, Bucky is still sore.  Yes.  Love it!

_Arm and Leg Sleeves_

On and on it goes in alphabetical order.  Bucky has to Google more than half the activities on the _five page_ list.  Some acts are listed with degrees of severity or qualifiers like “Beating (Soft)” and “Beating (Hard)” or “Piercing (Temporary/Play)” and “Piercing (Permanent)” or “Oral Sex (Giving)” and “Oral Sex (Receiving).  Others are things that Bucky didn’t even know could possibly be associated with sexual activity, things like “Shaving,” “Mummification,” “Fire Play” or “Electricity” (Bucky would be lying if he said that he didn’t pull up videos for those last two in particular).  Some of the things listed make Bucky want to gag (“Brown Showers”) while others turn him on incredibly (“Given Away”). 

In the end, it takes Bucky so long to finish the checklist that he’s only on the third page when Jarvis appears in the kitchen and silently begins preparing dinner.  Bucky moves away from the island, slipping in to the library when Danny also arrives to help cook, even though he’s considerably more talkative, shirtless and sporting brand new, bright red marks all over his torso and a bit of a dopey smile.

Bucky reviews his answers a couple times before he gets to his feet to find Black Widow.  Nervously, he follows the sound of her voice out into the common room, where she sits with Wanda on a plush couch, one hand on Wanda’s thigh and her lips near her neck.  Bucky hangs back, unsure if it’s a good time to approach until Black Widow spots him and waves him over.

“Finish it?” Black Widow asks, looking at the papers in Bucky’s hand.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Black Widow holds out a hand and Bucky hands the checklist over.  She looks down at the first page, bottom lip between her teeth as she reads.  Bucky feels a blush warming his face at the idea of standing here while Black Widow looks over his answers.  Luckily, Black Widow sets Bucky free.

“Good,” she mutters, flipping to the second page.  “Clint’s in the kitchen, tell him that you need a shower.”  Black Widow glances up at Bucky, wrinkling her nose but grinning all the same.  “You smell like you’ve been fucked into a mattress.” 

Bucky isn’t sure how to feel about that statement, floundering somewhere between embarrassment and arousal.  He just nods and excuses himself.

The shower in the guest bathroom is nowhere near as lavish as the one in Black Widow’s room, though it’s still a perfectly nice shower.  He finds the shelves in the corner full of sweet smelling soaps and shampoos and he scrubs himself down quickly.  By the time he gets back downstairs, the grand dining room table has been set and the scent of some sort of Italian cuisine wafts through the air.  Black Widow is still on the couch beside Wanda, eyes pouring over the checklist in her hands.  Nearby, Tony stands chatting with the guy Bucky had met at the munch called Panther and the woman named Storm.  Panther is dressed in well-fitted ethnic garb while Storm, whose silver Mohawk and shaved sides have serious punk rock tones, is dressed fully in leather.

“Hey, James!” Tony calls when he spots Bucky.

Bucky shuffles over to Tony.

“You met Storm and Panther, right?” Tony asks, motioning at the two people in front of him.

“Briefly,” Bucky replies.

“They’ll be coming out with us tonight.  They don’t live here, but they’re part of the family,” Tony explains with over exaggerated hand motions.  “Because they’re weird,” Tony adds slyly, glancing over at Panther.

“Well, some of us have important work to do that can’t be accomplished while living—” Panther responds immediately in a heavy accent, face going tight as if he really takes offense to being called weird.

“Calm down, kitty cat, I’m just joking around,” Tony interrupts, turning to look at Bucky again.  “I do business with T’s company,” Tony explains.  “Although, it’s his sister who’s the mad scientist in the family.”      

Bucky gets pulled into stilted small talk.  Tony drives the entire conversation, with both Panther and Storm being ever steady, ever silent presences, speaking only as little as possible.  Bucky learns that Panther and Storm are married and, as evident by their accents, are from Wakanda and Kenya, respectively.  They make an intimidating pair, that’s for damn sure, both with suspicious, discerning stares that bore so hard into Bucky when he speaks that he feels like they must be reading his mind.  Bucky is grateful when Jarvis announces that dinner is ready.

Flowing from all around the house, familiar faces appear and stand behind the chairs around the dining table, though nobody sits down until Black Widow has thrown Bucky’s checklist down and meandered over to her seat at the head of the table.  Chairs scrape, utensils clink, plates clatter.  Jarvis, wearing a button down shirt and slacks now, wheels out a cart loaded with food, filling up Black Widow’s plate first and moving down the line as Danny fills glasses with wine.

The meal is four full courses: salad, soup, a rustic Italian dish that Bucky’s never had before, and gelato.  It’s all delicious and filling, and the dinner passes casually, with Bucky being pulled into conversations around the table.  He opens up more about himself, talking about his job and even mentioning Jess once.  When Alias isn’t pestering her own submissive, she’s launching questions at Bucky, though it’s not nearly as intimidating as it was at the munch.  In fact, Alias might be growing on Bucky.  Her real name is Jessica, and she reminds Bucky of his own Jess—foul mouthed, brash, unflappable.  When Bucky looks past her harsh tone, he can see the sarcasm and the light-heartedness in her eyes, even if she isn’t great at communicating it.  Bucky thinks that if he were a woman, he’d be a lot like Alias.  Hell, Bucky’s no stranger to overcompensating by glowering angrily at everyone he meets, something that Alias seems an expert at.

When the dinner is over, Bucky expects Black Widow to wave him over.  But she doesn’t, instead pushing out her chair and following Wanda out of the room without a word or even a glance in Bucky’s direction.  She simply snatches the checklist from the couch and bounds up the stairs.  For a confused moment, Bucky sits at the table to toys with his gelato spoon until Clint surprises him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on,” Clint says quietly.

Bucky twists in his seat and gives Clint a questioning look, to which Clint just rolls his eyes.

“We’re gonna go get dressed, _come on_ ,” Clint insists. 

With a furrowed brow, Bucky lets himself be pulled to his feet and led upstairs.  Instead of turning down the hall towards Black Widow’s room, Clint turns the other direction and heads to what Bucky assumes is his own room.

Clint’s room is significantly smaller than Black Widow’s.  No fireplace, no open expanses of hardwood floor, no walk in closet or private bathroom.  But Bucky is surprised by just how homey Clint’s room really is.  The walls are painted dark gray, the floor laid with bleached wood, a purple plush rug covers most of the floor space.  Clint’s bedcovers are black, the frame is clearly custom made, with eyehooks and rings for bondage on the headboard and footboard.  The rest of the furniture is matching oak, to include a glass encased display shelf prominently exhibiting a gold medal.  Bucky approaches the thing immediately, reading the inscription on the front.

_XXIX Olympiad Beijing 2008_

“Holy shit,” Bucky breathes.  “Is this yours?”

Near the medal is a picture.  Clint, ten years younger, standing on a pedestal with two other people, a bouquet in his arms and his face set with pride.  The real Clint glances over his shoulder and shrugs.

“That’s fucking crazy!” Bucky cries.  “You won a gold medal at the Olympics?  Are you fucking kidding me?  What’d you win it in?” Bucky asks, even though he has an inkling.

“Archery,” Clint replies, pulling open his closet doors and not indulging Bucky for a moment.    

Bucky shakes his head, musing.

“Dude, you people are fucking crazy.  Millionaires, geniuses, Olympians.  I’m starting to doubt that I belong here,” Bucky says as Clint begins hauling things out of the closet.

“It was a long time ago,” Clint replies with another casual shrug.

“It’s still impressive,” Bucky points out, finally tearing his eyes away from the spread of memorabilia in the case.  Clint stands by the bed with his hands on his hips, an array of leather goods arranged on the bed.

“You can’t wear jeans tonight,” Clint announces matter-of-factly, changing the subject without pretense.

“Why not?”

“There’s a strict dress code at Asgard.  Fetish or formal wear only,” Clint explains, motioning to the stuff on the bed.  “You’re a little bigger than me, so we gotta find something that fits.”

“I don’t really know what fetish wear is,” Bucky admits, palming the back of his neck.

Clint bends forward and grabs the hook of a hanger, yanking something up from the pile on the bed.  At first, all Bucky can make out is straps and studs over what looks like assless leather chaps.  Clint tosses the thing at Bucky and the heavy leather and metal slaps Bucky square in the chest, nearly knocking him back with its weight. 

“Try it on,” Clint directs, settling against the bed.

Cautiously, Bucky unhooks the clamps of the hanger, sending the outfit tumbling to the ground.  Bucky picks up the pants first to find that they are indeed assless chaps.  Swallowing hard, Bucky begins to sheer off his pants.  He leaves on his boxers and struggles to get the thick material onto his legs.  Halfway up his thighs, though, the things get stuck and no matter how much Bucky tugs and pulls, they’re not going anywhere.  He looks up at Clint, who chuckles and grabs something else from the bed and throws it at Bucky.

Bucky attempts two more pairs of leather pants before Clint gives up on the idea.

“You got anything that’s not, ya know, custom leather?” Bucky asks.

“Sure,” Clint replies.  “I just thought you’d look good in leather.”

Bucky isn’t sure how to take that declaration, and Clint doesn’t seem about to qualify it, turning to pull something made from shiny black latex from his closet.  Once off the hanger, Bucky realizes that they’re latex pants.  Bucky almost wants to laugh.

“If the leather didn’t fit, I don’t think this will either,” Bucky points out.

“It’ll fit,” Clint promises, reaching for something on a shelf.  He pulls down a bottle of talcum powder.

Latex in one hand, powder in the other, Bucky looks incredulous at Clint. 

“Oh!  One more thing,” Clint says, eyeing Bucky’s bunched up boxers.

From a drawer, Clint produces a plastic wrapped package.  When Bucky tears open the small bag and upends it, he finds himself holding a strappy black man’s thong.

“No,” Bucky says immediately.

“Don’t worry, they’re brand new,” Clint shrugs.

“Yeah, that wasn’t my objection.”

Clint chuckles, but his face grows serious after a beat.

“Listen, do you want tonight to go well?” Clint asks.  Bucky nods.  “Do you want the Headmistress to like you?”

“Yes,” Bucky admits quietly.

“Do you want her to be proud to show you off?”

Bucky almost chokes at that question.  Show him off?  The very idea warms Bucky immediately.  His mouth suddenly too dry to speak, Bucky just nods.

“Put on the thong,” Clint states with an air of finality.

Against his better judgement, Bucky sighs and holds up the thong.  Out of sheer habit, he turns away from Clint when he pulls down his boxers.  Needing something, anything to distract him from his hurried hands tugging up the thong, Bucky opens his mouth to speak before even really considering what he’s saying.

“Why are you being so cool to me?” Bucky asks, glancing over at Clint.

Clint chuckles to himself, watching Bucky carefully for a long moment before replying.

“I told you, we’re about to become very close,” Clint finally says.  “Plus, you’re pretty easy on the eyes.”

Bucky blushes hard at that compliment, unsure how to respond to it.  He ducks his head so Clint won’t see his rosy cheeks.

“Close?” Bucky repeats.

“Yeah, man, close.  I belong to Black Widow and she _really_ wants to own you.  It’d probably be best if you and I got along.”

“She does?”

Bucky freezes, looking up at Clint.

“Wants to-to own me?” Bucky clarifies, hating how vulnerable his voice suddenly sounds.

Clint scoffs.

“Yeah, dude, she does,” Clint states like that was obvious.  “She told you as much, didn’t she?”

“Well, yeah,” Bucky admits, dropping his gaze.  “But I just-…I don’t know, I don’t want to jump to conclusions.”

Again, Clint shakes his head in disbelief.

“You think a woman like that gives the time of day to just any guy who drools over her?” Clint asks, raising his eyebrow.  “Do you know how many men message her every single day on fetlife?  She’s a _pro-Dom_ , James.  Guys pay _out the ass_ to just to lick her feet, and you thought that her taking you to a concert or inviting you into her private space again and again or bringing you along to public events just didn’t mean anything?  Come on, man, you’re smarter than that.”

Bucky is silent for a long moment, mulling over everything that Clint has just said.  He hadn’t thought of it like that, but Bucky’s realizing how true it all is.  Excitement, or maybe nervousness grips Bucky’s chest suddenly.  This is real.  This is really happening.  It’s not just some delusion in Bucky’s head or fantasy he can’t see past.  The reality of that nearly knocks Bucky over.

“Come on, you’ve been readjusting that same strap for the last minute, dude,” Clint sighs, nodding at Bucky’s nervously moving left hand.   

Bucky snaps himself out of his own head, dry washing his face quickly and concentrating on the task at hand.  Bucky can honestly say that he’s never worn a thong and, _good god_ , is it uncomfortable.  He almost tears them off again, refusing to wear them, but then he catches a glimpse of himself in the full length mirror.

Bucky’s T-shirt still hangs to his waist, but When Bucky pushes it up, he has to admit, the black thong looks _good_ on him.  Fuck, if that’s not something Bucky would never have imagined thinking in a billion years.  But it’s the truth.  The dark fabric cuts right along Bucky’s groin, showing off his muscular thighs and sharp V perfectly.  Bucky turns around and even his ass looks good.

“You look hot,” Clint says from behind Bucky, voice oddly rough.  “Pants are gonna be a lot harder to put on though.”

Clint isn’t kidding.  Putting on a pair of latex pants turns out to be a fucking project.  Fifteen minutes and a whole mess of talcum powder later, Bucky sits uncomfortably on the bed, panting, his legs squeezed into the shiny black latex.  Clint, on the other hand, is grinning ear to ear, chuckling at Bucky’s discomfort.

“How am I supposed to wear these all night?” Bucky demands.

“It’s this or just the thong, man,” Clint replies.  “You’ll get used to it.  Now stand up and take off your shirt.”   

Latex squeaking, Bucky gets to his feet again and reluctantly pulls off his long sleeve shirt.  Bucky knows that Clint’s seen him shirtless, but Bucky still isn’t entirely comfortable with exposing his left arm.  He can see Clint’s eyes dance briefly over the thick scar tissue at the fissure between flesh and metal.  But then, Clint blinks and looks away.  Bucky turns away from the mirror, balling up his shirt and tossing it onto Clint’s bed.  Clint steps in close and presents a belt in his hand.

“May I?” Clint asks.

Bucky isn’t entirely sure what Clint’s asking, but he nods anyway.  Clint moves in even closer, right into Bucky’s personal space.  Bucky takes a sharp breath through his nostrils and ends up taking in Clint’s musky, piney scent.  Clint’s a good four inches shorter than Bucky and he bends over a bit, reaching around Bucky and looping the belt around Bucky’s waist.  It’s a bit awkward but Clint moves quickly, stepping back and admiring his work.

“I guess you’ll have to wear your boots,” Clint says, eyeing Bucky’s bare feet.  “At least they’re a dark color though.  You should probably put them on now.”

Bucky does as Clint asks, maneuvering his latex clad legs awkwardly as he tugs on his socks and boots.  When Bucky gets to his feet again, Clint looks him up and down, up and down, pondering.  Stepping in close once again, Clint’s pointer finger lands on Bucky’s chest.  Bucky looks down and finds him pointing at the faded letters across Bucky’s skin.  Bucky thinks Clint’s about to say something about it, but after reading the words quickly, Clint looks up at Bucky.

“You look good,” Clint says earnestly, and again, Bucky can’t help but blush.

“Thanks,” Bucky mutters.

‘But,” Clint continues, stepping back, “as much as a shame it is to cover up…” Clint puts up his hands to frame Bucky’s chest, motioning at his torso, “… _this_.  Black Widow says you’ll probably want to wear this thing.”

Clint pulls something else from the closet shelf and holds it up.  Again, it takes Bucky a second to realize what it is.  Some kind of…shirt perhaps, made of dark, shiny, rigid material.  It looks more like a costume piece for a renaissance fair, a breast plate connected with leather straps to a back plate, but with a sleeve.  Rigid plates make up a single long arm.  Then Bucky realizes why Black Widow thought he would want to wear it—it covers the majority of his left arm, to include the scars on his shoulder.  Once again, Bucky’s chest seizes.  The idea of Black Widow already understanding Bucky’s insecurities makes it a bit hard to breath, but in a good way.

“How do I put that on?” Bucky asks, eyeing the thing.

“I’ll help you out.”

Clint’s fingers move feather light across Bucky’s skin, leaving his flesh in goosebumps wherever his touch trails.  The top has an obscene amount of straps, but Clint makes quick work of them all, not even pausing as he tightens the leather against Bucky’s metal arm.

When Bucky turns back to the mirror again, he barely recognizes himself.

“Holy shit,” Bucky gasps because _holy shit_ , he looks good.  Even his metal arm seems outshined by the elaborate outfit.  In fact, it almost matches the oddly futuristic tone the overall ensemble strikes.  The latex pants ride low while the top come to just below Bucky’s navel, revealing an expanse of skin between the two.  And on the shoulder that the asymmetric top doesn’t cover, the material cuts directly to Bucky’s armpit, revealing his right pectoral.  He looks like something out of a fantasy movie, or a magazine, like nothing that Bucky Barnes has ever been before.

In the mirror, Bucky can see Clint peering at Bucky’s reflection from his left.

“Is this…” Bucky begins, his voice cracking a bit.  Clearing his throat, Bucky tries again.  “Is this acceptable?  I-I look alright?”

Clint chuckles, understanding Bucky’s question immediately.

“You’ll fit in just fine,” Clint replies.

As Bucky messes with his hair, he watches Clint move back across the room again, pulling off his shirt as he goes, revealing surprisingly freckled shoulders and a toned physique.  With his sandy hair rustled from his shirt, Clint begins shifting through the clothes on the bed.  Bucky watches Clint absentmindedly, tying and untying a bun at the base of his neck and hardly aware that he’s staring until Clint catches him in the reflection and raises his eyebrow.  Bucky blushes hard and ducks his gaze. 

Clint, however, isn’t shy.  Eyeing Bucky through the glass with just enough mischief on his face to make Bucky’s stomach flutter, Clint pushes off his sweatpants, revealing that he wears nothing underneath but a cock cage.  It takes Bucky a moment to realize that’s what he’s seeing, but once he does, he can’t stop staring.

“Dude, you really gotta stop staring at people like that,” Clint scoffs, knocking Bucky out of his momentary stupor. 

Bucky unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth, trying to think of what to say.  Sorry would probably be appropriate.  But before Bucky can speak, the door of Clint’s room bangs open to reveal Tony wearing an array of red leather straps with large gold studs.

“Hello, Ladies,” Tony greets brightly.  “Are we braiding each other’s hair yet?”

Clint just rolls his eyes and goes back to picking out what to wear.

“James, man, you look hot as hell,” Tony continues, bounding over to Bucky and slapping him hard on the shoulder.  “Seriously, I want to fuck you.  Clint, did you do this?”  Tony motions to Bucky’s outfit and Bucky notices that Tony’s nails are painted bright red.

“I helped,” Clint shrugs, shimming into a pair of tight black underwear.

“God _dammit_ , the Red Room is gonna be fun tonight,” Tony concludes, darting away from Bucky without explaining what that even means.  Nat had said they were going to Asgard. 

Tony produces a bottle, where it was hidden, Bucky can only guess.  Tony swirls the amber liquid inside around, catching Clint’s eye.  Again, Clint rolls his eyes as Tony uncorks the bottle and takes a long swig.  When Tony hands the bottle to Clint, Clint begrudgingly takes a small sip, making a face at the taste.

“The fuck is that?” Clint coughs.

“Expensive,” Tony answers, snatching the bottle away to hand to Bucky.

Bucky takes a swallow of the whiskey and, _holy shit_ , the taste is sharp and warm, but it goes down smoother than any of the swill Bucky is used to choking down.  It’s so strong that Bucky’s head almost immediately begins to swim as he feels the liquid hit his stomach.  Tony watches Bucky expectantly, so Bucky nods, forcing himself to grin as he hands the bottle back to Tony. 

Tony’s manic energy buzzes about the room as Clint gets dressed in one of his pairs of leather chaps and a matching chest harness.  Tony and Clint chatter back and forth, handing the bottle around, and it’s not long before Bucky is feeling warm and floaty.  The fourth time the bottle is handed back to Bucky, he waves it away.

Luckily, it’s not long before Clint is dressed and wrangling Tony out of his room.  Bucky follows along, moving downstairs where the common room is full of people.  House members mill about, dressed spectacularly.  Clint was right, Bucky’s outfit certainly seems to be fitting in so far—latex, leather, lace, studs, corsets, fishnets, and heels galore.

When Black Widow comes gliding down the stairs, Bucky nearly chokes.

She’s dressed in a strappy black bra, a peplum belt, elbow high black gloves, thigh high black tights, and strappy high heels.  Everything is made of shimmery satin that catches the light when Black Widow moves, making her look almost ethereal, like something out of a dream.  Her red hair is slicked back, green eyes peering out from dark eyeshadow with sharp winged liner.  Ruby lips are pursed as Black Widow takes the last few steps, eyes moving across the group slowly. 

Heels click on hardwood, Bucky barely breathes as Black Widow approaches him, hips swaying and eyes locked on his own.  She eyes the asymmetric top Bucky wears, lips twitching in something that almost looks like a smile. 

“Look at you,” Black Widow purrs, stopping even with Bucky.  “What do you think of the top?”

“It’s…interesting,” Bucky replies.  “But I like it,” he adds, smiling shyly.  Black Widow eyes Bucky carefully but says nothing.  “So…are you going to tell me what to expect tonight?”

Black Widow remains quiet for another few moments before finally replying.

“Come to the study with me.”

As always, the study is warm, dark, and quiet.  In fact, at the moment, it’s entirely empty.  Black Widow sits down in the same chair as the last time Bucky was in this room, crossing her legs neatly and nodding to the floor.  Obediently, Bucky sits, turning his back to the fire to look up at Black Widow.  He notices her hand moving in her lap, drawing Bucky’s eyes.  A loop of black leather wraps around her hand.  When Black Widow notices Bucky’s eyes on it, she presents it carefully, unraveling the leather to reveal a sleek black collar with a silver ring.  Bucky’s breath catches in his throat.

Black Widow doesn’t say a word, she simply holds the collar open and looks down at Bucky with an expectant gaze.  Bucky swallows hard, his metal hand gripping his trembling flesh hand as he leans forward.  Black Widow reaches towards Bucky.  When the cool leather touches Bucky’s skin, he releases a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.  Black Widow’s deft fingers caress along the skin of Bucky’s neck, goosebumps chasing her touch.  The clasp at the back tightens and with the click of a lock, Black Widow withdraws, folding her hands in her lap and looking hard at the collar.  Bucky doesn’t dare move, he barely breathes, waiting for Black Widow to say something, anything.

“There are rules you’ll be following tonight,” Black Widow finally says, voice crisp and high pitched.  “And as long as you wear my collar, you follow my rules.”

Black Widow pauses, cocking an eyebrow.  She’s waiting on a response.  Bucky stares up into her eyes.  There’s an emotion there he can’t identify.  Breath hitching, Bucky thinks that he wants to freeze this moment in time, bottle it up and carry it with him forever.  It’s an odd sensation blooming through his chest.  Vulnerable, but not unsafe.  Submissive, but not weak.  It should feel dichotomous, but it doesn’t.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky breathes, unable to bring his voice above a whisper.

“You’ll refer to me as Headmistress,” Black Widow begins, rolling her shoulders back.  “You’ll do as I ask, when I ask it.  You’ll use safewords if you need to.  You’ll ask permission before leaving my side.  You’ll look me in the eye when I speak to you.  You’ll not use any furniture.  When walking you’ll walk to my left, two steps back.  You’ll refer to any dominant by their preferred title.  If you don’t know their title, you’ll ask.  If you’re still unsure, you’ll call them sir or ma’am.  Do you understand these rules?”

Bucky’s head feels fuzzy, his thoughts are moving slow.

“If I forget?” Bucky asks.  “Headmistress,” he adds quickly, remembering the first rule.

“I personally will remind you of a rule only once,” Black Widow explains darkly.  “You can ask Hawkeye, if you forget.  If I have to remind you a second time, there will be punishment.”

“Punishment?” Bucky asks, voice shaking a bit.  “Like what, Headmistress?”

“Screw up and you’ll find out.”

It’s a harsh warning but there’s mischief in Black Widow’s gaze, a small smile tugging at the right corner of her mouth.  Bucky’s hands clench in his lap.  The entire day, Bucky’s been surprisingly at ease.  Even in the crowded class, with strangers’ eyes on his arm, he’d been relaxed.  But now, with the way Black Widow’s gaze cuts him down the middle, like surgical scalpel through his flesh, with the hungry, possessive glint in her green eyes, with the foreboding warning hanging in the air, Bucky feels his stomach flood with nerves.  Nerves and arousal.  His guts churn, but he can’t tell if it’s from fear or excitement. 

Bucky must be showing all this on his face, because Black Widow takes pity on him, leaning forward and cupping his cheek in her palm.  Bucky closes his eyes, lets the sensation of her smooth skin wash across his heated face, before nodding apprehensively.  Remembering another of the rules, he opens his eyes, meeting Black Widow’s gaze.

“Yes, Headmistress.”

“Do you understand my rules and conditions?”

“Yes, Headmistress.”

“And you’ll follow my rules as long as my collar is on?”

Bucky tries to wet his dry lips, nodding slowly.

“Yes, Headmistress.”

“Say it,” Black Widow orders.

“As long as your collar is on, I’ll follow your rules.”

Black Widow drags her fingers through Bucky’s hair, petting him with her sharp crimson nails, making Bucky shiver.  He leans into her touch, sighing quietly.

“Good boy,” Black Widow praises, causing Bucky to blush.

When Black Widow pulls her hand away, Bucky chases her touch, pouting slightly at the loss of contact.  But Black Widow is digging through a concealed pocket at the top of her tights, lips pursed.  She produces a lighter and a neatly rolled joint, red nails flashing in the firelight.  Tucking it between her lips, she lights the joint.  Bucky watches enraptured, ever endured by the visage Nat makes bathed in firelight.  Her skin looks like marble, smooth and flawless awash in the dancing orange glow.  She breathes in deep, the joint flashing and catching.  Leaning forward, she breathes out the smoke across Bucky’s face.  It’s a dominating move and Bucky should take offense, but he can only shiver despite the hearth roaring at his back.

Black Widow hands the joint to Bucky.  With a trembling and sweating hand, Bucky takes the offering and puts it to his lips.  Smoking is something that Bucky doesn’t do often.  His youth had been domineered by his father driven by his dictated involvement in sports.  Sneaking out to underground fights to take out his ever boiling rage when his father was out of town was the extent of Bucky's capability to rebel.  Then Bucky had been shuffled off to the military.  It was Jess who had gotten Bucky to try marijuana for the first time, after a particularly harsh panic attack during a fated shopping trip during the holiday season, when an overworked employee had caught a glimpse of Bucky’s shirtless form when he was changing and had openly and loudly demanded to know “what the fuck is that?”  Every so often, Bucky made his way to a dispensary, but he mostly ever used it for his ever present insomnia.  He takes a long hit off the joint, coughing hard when he exhales.

They smoke in silence.  Black Widow’s fingers drift back to Bucky’s hair, absentmindedly petting him as her thoughts clearly wanders.  It should feel awkward, but it doesn’t.  Black Widow stares quietly into the fire and Bucky stares quietly at Black Widow.  The marijuana seeps into Bucky’s brain as his thoughts become less tangible.  All he can think about is Natasha.  She looks calm, quiet, more relaxed than Bucky thinks he’s ever seen her.  Her highly maintained glossy exterior slips away nit by bit.  Shoulders that are constantly stiff slump a quarter of an inch downward.  A brow eternally tight relaxes.  Pursed lips move into something more natural.  Her muscles loosen and her body sinks back into the armchair.  When the joint is spent, Bucky almost feels sad.  Black Widow sighs and her eyes settle on Bucky.

“Are you ready?” she asks.

“Yes, Headmistress,” Bucky whispers.

“Are you nervous?”

“A little bit,” Bucky admits, forcing himself to look into Black Widow’s eyes, no matter how much he wants to drop his gaze.  “But I’m also excited.”

Black Widow smiles, a real, genuine smile, brilliant and stunning.  The knowledge that Bucky caused such a smile takes his breath away and before he knows it, he’s returning it.

“Come on,” Black Widow says, still smiling.  She uncrosses her legs and rises to her feet, her normal demeanor returning immediately, settling around her like a shroud. 


	11. Sensitized

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Man I had some wild writers block lately but I finally got over it and cranked this chapter out in about two hours. Hope you guys enjoy some kinky group sex!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's what Black Widow is wearing tonight.

It’s snowing hard when the group heads out into the night.  Wrapped in a worn wool trench coat borrowed from Bruce, Bucky sits in the backseat of the Escalade, staring out at the swirling flakes through the window as his high slowly ebbs away.  The longer the ride goes on, the more nervous Bucky becomes, despite Tony turning up the music and the rest of the car’s occupants singing along loudly (“It’s my car, I can play what I want,” Tony defends when Bruce admonishes him for his song selection).  

When the car finally stops, they’re outside an old brick building, three stories tall, the only historical hold-out in an otherwise gentrified neighborhood.  The street they’re on is quiet, but a few blocks away is a popular strip of bars and nightclubs, places Bucky has been dragged to a couple times by Jess.  This building is one Bucky must have passed dozens of times.  But, like the studio, without any exterior signs, the place just looks abandoned.

Well, it must usually look abandoned.  Right now, however, flood lights bathe the brick in yellow, and a steady thud of musical base bleeds out into the cold night.  The design of the building is almost mid-century industrial, and the exterior lights throw that into sharp relief.  It comes off as slightly foreboding.

With such a large group, the Avengers have taken several cars.  Everyone pours out onto the snow brushed streets, and Bucky lets himself be washed along with the tide, hurrying into the building.  Like the studio and the mansion, there is a small, makeshift front room, hiding what lies beyond from prying eyes.  Behind a pane of glass, in a small booth, a woman in a latex dress lounges on an office chair.  Nat pushes to the front of the group, speaking to the woman quickly.  With a bright smile, the group is waved inside.

Bucky had thought the mansion was grand, it’s nothing compared to this place.  The room beyond is massive and filled with such an array that Bucky hardly knows what to look at first.  A bar, a dancefloor, various raised stages, specialized furniture, a collection of plump couches, people dancing in cages, stripper poles, ribbon dancers, dimly lit alcoves, sadistic looking art installations.  A cacophony of screams and shouts, some in joy, others in pain, rise above the sound of the Immigrant Song.   It’s only 8:30 and the place is already packed.  Clint had been right, everyone here is dressed like something out of a sci-fi movie.  It’s not just leather and latex, but various complicated and overstated costumes.  The décor and the layout of the building reminds Bucky almost of a church, or some sort of twisted temple—shiny black tiled floors, vaulted ceilings, intricate murals, gold painted walls, crystal chandeliers dancing with candlelight.  Its grandeur is both breathtaking and ominous.   

For a terrifying moment, it’s all too much, it overwhelms Bucky.  It’s too loud, too crowded.  Bucky’s heart rate begins to sky rocket, his chest tightening.  It’s nonsensical, he’s been fine all day, there’s no reason this should freak him out.  But it does.  Bucky shouldn’t be here.  What does he think he’s doing?  This isn’t anything like Bucky had expected two and a half weeks ago when he had finally had the courage to go looking online for this hidden community.  He had _barely_ convinced himself to attend that first munch.  In his mind had been the idea of simply making a single friend with which to slowly experiment with.  Dip his toes in the water.  This…this is diving headfirst with borrowed scuba gear, not knowing what beasts lie beneath the surface. 

The beginnings of a panic attack wraps its insidious tendrils around Bucky’s heart.  It’s like a bucket of ice, dousing Bucky where he stands.  His muscles seize, body going numb.  People are moving past him, barely noticing.  But it won’t be long before they realize, before they see how truly pathetic Bucky is.  The tendrils twist tighter.

Suddenly, a hand slides into Bucky’s own, jarring him from his thoughts.  He looks up, not sure what he’s expecting, but it’s definitely not Clint.  Clint’s pale blue eyes search Bucky’s face for a moment before Clint’s other hand comes up to grip Bucky’s upper arm.  Without a moment’s hesitation, Clint drives Bucky backwards, out of the entry way and towards a darkened corner.

“You doing alright, James?” Clint asks, brow furrowed.

Bucky gulps down air and forces himself to nod.

“Don’t lie to me,” Clint commands.

“I’m just…nervous,” Bucky manages to pant, staring over Clint’s shoulder at the crowded room beyond.

“Don’t look at them, look at me,” Clint directs.

Bucky’s heart is still racing.  He can feel himself beginning to sweat but he finally manages to look Clint in the eye again.

“This is…this is crazy,” Bucky whines.  “What am I doing?  This isn’t me!”

“Hey,” Clint says in a firm voice, grip tightening.  “You’re right, it is crazy.  I’m wearing assless chaps right now, we’re in a sex club, it’s supposed to be crazy.  It makes no sense.  But we’re gonna go out there and we’re gonna have a good time.  Doesn’t matter who you were or what you used to be.  You can leave if you want, Jarvis will drive you home.  But if you step out there with me, you’re one of us.”        

The statement sits heavy in the air between them.  Bucky swallows hard.  Clint’s words are harshly spoken, but they cut through the fog in Bucky’s brain.  The tightness in Bucky’s chest slowly releases. 

“If you didn’t want this, you wouldn’t be here,” Clint points out, tone softening.  “And you have one hell of a woman waiting out there for you,” Clint adds, fingers coming up to brush against the collar around Bucky’s neck.

Clint is right.  Bucky can feel himself deflating.  He reminds himself that this is what he wants, to waste the chance would be an idiotic move that Bucky would spend his entire life kicking himself for. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky breathes, his panic washing away with each lungful of air.

“It’s no problem, man,” Clint assures with a genial smile.  “I’ve got your back tonight.’

The statement takes Bucky by surprise.  Not just the words, but the way Clint says them.  There’s a sudden sincerity there that Bucky hadn’t expected.  He thinks he should say something back, but he doesn’t get the chance because Danny appears behind Clint.

“You guys alright?” Danny asks.

Clint gives Bucky a questioning look.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, nodding curtly.  “Yeah, let’s go.”

Black Widow waits for them back near the entry, eyeing them questionably when they approach. 

“Everything alright?” she asks, looking back and forth between Clint and Bucky, concern painting her expression.

“We’re good, Headmistress,” Clint responds, grabbing Bucky’s arm again and squeezing.  Bucky nods in agreement, still concentrating on his breathing.

Black Widow nods curtly.

“Thor’s about to do his opening,” she says, looking over her shoulder to where the rest of the Avengers are taking seats on the many long couches.  “Let’s go.”

The full length coat Black Widow wears slides from her shoulders and she holds it out to Clint, who takes it before pulling off his own.  Bucky gets the hint and takes off his coat as well.  Clint darts away with the bundle of coats, presumably to put them in some sort of coat check.

“You’re sure you’re alright?” Black Widow asks quietly, stepping close to Bucky.

“I just-…I just freaked out a little bit,” Bucky admits, struggling to look Black Widow in the eye.

A finger loops through the ring of Bucky’s collar, forcing him to meet Black Widow’s gaze.

“It’s okay to be nervous, Bucky,” Black Widow says in a soft voice. “Don’t overthink things.”

“I’ll try, Headmistress.”

Clint returns a moment later and Black Widow releases her hold on Bucky.  There’s a bag at Black Widow’s feet that she points to.  Clint obediently picks it up, digging through it and pulling out a leash.  Black Widow takes it and attaches the clip to the ring of Clint’s collar.  Bucky swallows hard.  He isn’t sure if there’s a leash in there for him, and he isn’t sure how he’d feel about being on one.  But Black Widow turns, tugging on Clint’s leash and heading further into the room.  His legs shaking slightly, Bucky follows, putting himself next to Clint, remembering the rule about walking to Black Widow’s left.  As they walk, Clint reaches out and grabs Bucky’s arm again, holding him steady and using his other hand to brush his fingers along Bucky’s skin.  It should feel awkward, but it doesn’t, because all Bucky can concentrate on is the sensation.  It’s grounding and even though Bucky is still nervous out of his mind, he can feel himself relaxing into Clint’s touch.

Black Widow settles into a chair next to the couch where Bruce lounges, Tony spread across his lap like a dog.  Gracefully, Clint kneels on the ground by Black Widow’s feet.  Black Widow yanks hard on the leash, pulling Clint flush against the chair.  Without the poise Clint has, Bucky sits down as well, pulling his knees up to his chest and leaning back.  It’s a struggle in the restrictive clothing, but Bucky eventually gets comfortable.  Once again, Clint reaches out and grabs Bucky’s hand.  Bucky doesn’t question it.  With his hand laid open in Clint’s lap, Clint draws patterns in Bucky’s palm with his fingers.  Bucky concentrates on the sensation and looks out across the room.

Nearby, two people dressed as dogs fight over a ball, darting across the ground on their hands and knees playfully.  A little further along is Panther, Storm straddling his lap and kissing him deeply.  In a cage, a woman hikes her leg up as another woman kneels before her, licking her pussy enthusiastically.  A man in a full hood is tied down to a chair, two women trading off beating him with paddles.  A man smokes a large cigar while a woman fellates him.  A woman dressed as a child—pink baby-doll dress, a pacifier, and a diaper—colors in a book, face twisted in concentration while holding an oversized stuffed animal against her chest.  On and on the menagerie goes and Bucky thinks back to the checklist, to the pages and pages of activities that fall under the category of BDSM.  They seem to all be on display here.

The music is turned down and Bucky spots Thor striding purposefully towards the middle of the room.  Attention turn to him and voices fall hushed.

“Friends!” Thor booms, throwing his arms open wide.  Every eye that wasn’t already on him turns his way.  Thor looks around the room, smiling genial.  “Welcome to Asgard!”  A short applause answers Thor.  He waits until it dies down to continue.  “We are all overjoyed at your presence here tonight.  It is your tutelage that allows me to do what I love, and it is your support that carries us forth into the hedonistic revels that will take place tonight.  The entirety of the rules and bylaws stand tonight as they do every night.  You can find these prominently displayed throughout the premise.  As always, no cellular devices are allowed.  If one is discovered, it shall be confiscated immediately and you will be politely asked to vacate.  Now, onward to the fun stuff.”  Thor pauses.  “The mentor dungeon on the second floor will be open from now until midnight.  This evening’s scheduled class is fire play, taught by Master Hogun at 10:00.  Per usual, the performance rooms will have shows at the top of the hour every hour.  Now!” Thor claps his hands together, pausing dramatically.  “Let the revelries begin!”

Another applause starts, louder this time.  The music is turned back up and with an overstated bow, Thor takes his leave from the spotlight.    

What happens next, Bucky hasn’t a clue.

Behind him, Black Widow is caught in a low conversation with Bruce, turned in her seat.  Clint, meanwhile, is watching Bucky.  Bucky smiles self-consciously and tries to think of something to talk about.

“So…what’s fire play?” Bucky settles on.

“Fire play?” Clint repeats.

“Yeah,” Bucky replies, waving vaguely in Thor’s direction.  “Thor mentioned a class about it.”

“It’s what it sounds like,” Clint answers with a shrug.  “I’m sure we could go to the class if you’re curious.”

“That sounds…dangerous.”

Clint chuckles, shaking his head.

“It actually feels pretty good.”  Clint twists around and puts a hand on Black Widow’s knee to get her attention.  It takes her a moment, but she turns and looks down at her submissive with a questioning gaze.  “James would like to check out the fire play class, Headmistress,” Clint says sweetly, laying his head against Black Widow’s leg, the picture of domesticity. 

Black Widow’s gaze flickers up to Bucky.

“Curious about fire play?”

Bucky nods, hoping the dim lighting hides the blush rising up his neck.

“Yes, Headmistress.”

“Alright.”

Ten minutes later, they’ve ascended to the second floor.  As opposed to the open space below, this floor is a maze of dark, narrow hallways punctuated by heavy wooden doors.  Black Widow knows where she’s going though, and Tony and Bruce have decided to tag along.  They file into a large room with a stage in the very center.  The lights in this room are brighter than anywhere else Bucky’s seen in the entire building.  Chairs surround the stage area on all sides, and the room is already crowded with people.  They find a cluster of chairs near the corner as an Asian man with long hair and a braided beard sets up a massage table on the stage. 

Fire play, as it turns out, is using a series of wands soaked in alcohol and alit with flame on a person’s body.  Sometimes, the presenter named Master Hogun bounces the flaming wand along his submissive’s body, other times, he pours the alcohol onto her skin and lights it with the wand, resulting in an impressive fireball.  Every so often, Hogun will follow the flame with a handful of ice, causing his submissive to spasm at the temperature difference.  It’s a fascinating process to watch, and Bucky can only stare, enraptured.

“Does Black Widow know how to do this?” Bucky whispers to Clint at one point.

Clint nods and grins, eyes twinkling.

Hogun finishes the class by demonstrating cupping.  Bucky’s seen the technique used before by physical therapists, but it’s still fascinating to watch the round bruises blossom across the submissive’s skin.  When she is finally helped off the massage table, her flesh is a collage of angry red and bright purple and Bucky can’t help but stare. 

“What do you think?” Black Widow asks in Bucky’s ear as the class draws to a close.

Bucky turns fully around to look up at Natasha.

“Can you do that to me?”

Black Widow grins a brilliant, breath-taking grin. 

“I can,” she replies.  “Do you want me to?”

“Yes, Headmistress.”

Still smiling, Black Widow nods and puts her hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“I don’t have the supplies to do it tonight,” she admits before tapping a finger to her temple.  “But I’m saving that one for later.”

Bucky’s a bit saddened that he won’t be getting to try fire play tonight, but he’s also intrigued by the devious look on Nat’s face as she leans back in her chair. 

The class ends, the crowd files out slowly, and once they’re in the maze of halls again, Bucky expects them to go back downstairs.  Instead, however, they climb the next set of stairs to the third floor.  The layout is nearly identical to the second floor, but instead of wallpapered walls, the entire hall is made of glass.  As they move through the top floor, Bucky realizes that every room has a wall made of glass, the wall looking out onto the hallway.  Some rooms have heavy curtains closed, blocking those on the outside from seeing in.  Others are empty.  But most of the rooms are occupied, with the curtains and even, sometimes, the door open.  Within, the rooms have various setups and themes.  One looks like a hospital room, the other has only suspension points, this one simply has a massive bed and mirrored surfaces, another looks like a classroom (complete with a chalkboard and several desks).  On and on it goes, a veritable BDSM zoo, and Bucky wants to stop and gawk at every single one.  Nobody else in the group seems phased by the spectacle, most don’t even spare a glance inside the rooms, but Bucky can’t tear his eyes away.

“Curtains open means you’re welcome to watch the scene,” Clint begins to explain quietly as they walk.  “Door open means you’re welcome to go in and join.”

“Really?” Bucky gasps, his imagination going absolutely wild.  Strangers watching.  Strangers _joining_.  Bucky shivers, and he isn’t sure if it’s because he hates the idea or if it’s because he completely loves it.

Bucky almost trips over his feet when he realizes that the people in the room he’s now looking into are people that he knows.  Alias, dressed less like a dominatrix and more like a biker, swings a heavy flogger at Danny as the blonde struggles on his knees, his hands tied behind his back and his mouth stuffed with Cage’s cock.  In the next room, Storm is pulling the curtains shut as Panther tears off his shirt.  Bucky nearly runs headlong into Clint, not realizing that they’ve stopped.

Black Widow throws open the door of the next room and the group files in.

Bucky realizes that his heart is beating so fast that he’s afraid that his ribs might break.  There’s sweat on his brow and his throat feels thick with anticipation or fear.  The room he’s entered has a bed on one side, a sex swing on the other, and a wall lined with two benches and a cross.  With a thud, Clint drops Black Widow’s bag onto the bed before going to his knees.  Bucky watches Clint fold his hands behind his back and sit up straight, perfect form, perfect posture, before realizing that he should probably do the same.  Bucky can’t, however, because he’s absolutely frozen on the spot.  Behind Bucky, Black Widow throws the curtains open, letting in a bit of the light from outside.  Meanwhile, Tony uses his phone to turn on some music before Bruce grabs him by the throat and slowly pushes him down onto the bed.  Tony giggles like a maniac when Bruce looms over him hungrily, bending down to silence his sub with a bruising kiss.

A hand closes around Bucky’s wrist and tugs him to the ground.  Bucky goes pliantly, eyes still on Bruce and Tony as Clint tries to maneuver Bucky onto the cool hardwood.  When Clint’s hand lands near his throat, it tears Bucky out of his head for a moment.  He finally looks down at Clint and finds the man’s eyes intent on Bucky’s face.  Clint’s finger catches Bucky’s chin and prevents him from looking back at Bruce and Tony.

“Are you alright?” Clint asks.

Fuck.  _Fuck_.  Is Bucky alright?  Jesus fucking Christ, he hopes so.  He can’t feel anything but arousal, his mind orbiting the room senselessly.  Warm.  That’s the only real thought he has.  This is happening, it’s really happening.  Bucky realizes that his cock is painfully hard.  He also realizes that he’s nodding like a fool.

“Use your words,” Clint admonishes gently, sounding like his Mistress.

“Yes, yes, yes, _fuck yes_ ,” Bucky groans.

Clint smiles wide at that, laughing just a bit before his attention is drawn over Bucky’s shoulder, presumably to Black Widow.  Bucky wants to turn and look at her too.  He wants to touch her, kiss her, worship her.  But Clint has a firm grip on Bucky and when Bucky tries to twist, he instead only gets as far as staring once again at Bruce and Tony.  Tony’s back arches off the mattress, his hand working between Bruce’s thighs and his mouth hung open as Bruce sucks a bruise into Tony’s neck.  Bucky tears his eyes away and once again Clint is watching him.  Clint’s hand moves down Bucky’s chest, over the slick material of his top, and all the way to Bucky’s exposed navel.  Bucky shivers at the touch, swallowing hard, his mind still foggy.

“Can I kiss you, Bucky?” Clint asks, voice barely a whisper.

How does Clint know that Bucky likes to be called Bucky?  Wait, did he just ask to kiss Bucky?  Fuck.  Bucky swallows again, staring hard at Clint’s lips.  They’re soft and they’re pink and Bucky kind of wants to kiss them.  His chest feels painfully tight.  He wonders where Black Widow is, what she’s doing.  Bucky wants to dive into the twin pools of blue that are Clint’s eyes.  They watch Bucky carefully, expectantly.  Clint wants an answer.  Bucky doesn’t think that his voice will work right now.

So Bucky closes the space between them as an answer, catching Clint’s lips in his own.  Clint gasps, like he had expected Bucky to say no, but returns the kiss a moment later.  Clint’s hands are moving again, across Bucky’s body, searching for skin, searching for a grip as he lunges over Bucky.  Bucky brings his own hand up to Clint’s face as he’s forced onto his back on the floor.

Body plastered against Bucky’s, Clint pulls away, out of breath and lips kiss-bruised.  Eyes still closed, Clint smiles wide.  Bucky’s head is swimming and his cock is begging for attention.  When Clint shifts, Bucky finally catches glimpse of Black Widow, seated on the bed, watching them with possessive, hungry eyes.  Behind her, Bruce has grabbed Tony by the throat again and is forcing him off the bed and onto the floor.  Clint leans in again, kissing Bucky hard, and Bucky’s eyes fall shut.

When Tony moans, it’s filthy and it’s loud and it’s distracting, but it’s also hot as fuck.  As Clint works Bucky over, all Bucky can hear, over the soft sounds that Clint makes, over the music playing in the room, over the din of shouts throughout the building, is Tony’s sounds of pleasure.  Bucky is shaking now, he can feel the tremors wracking him and he hopes to god that Clint doesn’t stop because of it.  Because Clint’s hand is finally inching towards Bucky’s painfully hard cock.  And his mouth is moving down Bucky’s face, along his jaw, latching onto his neck.  When Clint bites Bucky’s neck hard, he also finally presses the heel of his palm against Bucky’s cock.  Bucky screams and he spasms and his head hits the hardwood with a loud _thunk_.

Eyes flying open, Bucky finds himself staring into Black Widow’s eyes.  Her nostrils flare, shoulder rolling with the effort of keeping herself on the bed as she watches Clint and Bucky.  Her lips part, tongue darting out, and the movement is mesmerizing.

“Take his clothes off, Clint,” she directs.

Bucky swallows hard as Clint releases Bucky’s neck and looks up at Black Widow.

“Yes, Headmistress.”

Clint gets his knees under him, lifting himself up.  His fingers make quick work of the straps that hold the complicated top onto Bucky’s torso, and Bucky shifts to free himself of it.  Clint’s mouth finds Bucky’s chest, kissing him hungrily, lips latching onto Bucky’s nipple.  Bucky moans and drops back again while Clint makes his way down Bucky’s body.  The latex pants hiss and crackle, but Clint gets them off with little effort.  In a moment of sanity, Bucky laments how hard those damn pants will be to get back on later.  But all thoughts of that are obliterated when Clint’s fingers grasp the edge of Bucky’s underwear and pulls them off, freeing his stiff member. Bucky cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of Black Widow, and finds her with her lip working furiously between her teeth.

“Come here, both of you.”

Clint immediately shoves himself upright, and Bucky almost whines at the loss of his touch.  Clint holds out a hand and helps Bucky upright before flipping himself over and crawling towards Black Widow.  Still shivering, Bucky follows suit as Black Widow directs Clint to get things out of her bag.

When Bucky has finally settled himself at Black Widow’s feet, she grabs his collar and yanks him close.

“Color?” she demands.

“Green, Headmistress,” Bucky gasps.  “Fuck, _green, green, green_.”

“Good,” Black Widow clips, releasing him.  “Turn around.”

Bucky does as he’s asked and a moment later, a blind fold is coming down over his eyes.  The mask is stiff, made of leather, and has a fur lining.  Try as he might, Bucky can see absolutely nothing.  Black Widow’s hands are on him, roughly positioning his body, and Bucky wills himself to relax.  Black Widow begins tying Bucky’s arms behind his back tightly as someone Bucky assumes must Clint crawls into his lap.  Fingers grab Bucky’s face and Clint’s lips meet his again. 

Black Widow makes quick work of restraining Bucky, his elbows pulled so tightly back that they’re touching.  It’s uncomfortable, and as Black Widow pulls him back flush against her, Bucky struggles to find a comfortable position.  Clint’s weight leaves Bucky’s body and for a suspended moment, Bucky has absolutely no idea what is about to happen.

“I propose a race,” Black Widow announces loudly to the room.

“A race?” Tony asks as Bruce groans.

“Yes, a race,” Black Widow replies.  “You against Clint.”

Tony chuckles, low and devious, but nobody further elaborates.  A race?  What kind of a race?

“And what, dear Headmistress, will I win when I defeat Robin Hood?” Tony asks.

“In your dreams, Stark,” Clint retorts.

“A day off tomorrow,” Black Widow states.

“W-what kind of a race?” Bucky finally manages to say.

Black Widow’s grip on Bucky’s shoulders tightens and she yanks him towards her.

“You’ll see,” she says in Bucky’s ear.  When Bucky squirms uncomfortably, Black Widow just laughs.  “All you have to do is sit there and look pretty.  Oh.”  There’s a note of surprise in that last word.  Bucky wants to ask what’s wrong, but Black Widow is shifting again, turning Bucky’s body before shoving the blindfold up onto his forehead.

Clint kneels at Bucky’s feet, staring hard at him.  Beside Clint is Tony, similarly kneeling before Bruce who sit on the bed.  Bucky doesn’t get to look at them for long, however, because Black Widow grabs his face roughly and turns it until Bucky notices the windowed wall.  Outside is a crowd of people.  Not a lot, but definitely enough to call them spectators.  Bucky takes a sharp breath through his nose, feeling suddenly, terrifyingly exposed.

“You have an audience,” Black Widow chuckles in his ear before cruelly shoving the blindfold back down.

“What’s going to happen?” Bucky can only gasp as Black Widow readjusts him against her again.

“Do you trust me?” Black Widow asks.

Bucky’s entire body seizes in the strongest tremor yet.

“Yes,” he breathes. 

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, H-Headmistress,” Bucky stutters.

“Then, like I said, just sit there and look pretty.”

“Are we doing this or not?” Tony asks.

Bucky can barely breathe.  He has no idea what is about to happen and it’s terrifying.

“No hands,” Black Widow dictates.  Bucky’s sluggish brain tries to piece together clues.

“Is there any other way, ma’am?” Tony quips.

“I’m just excited for your mouth to be full, Tony,” Clint adds.  “We’ll finally get some goddam silence.”

“Get ready,” Black Widow says, voice musical with glee.

A pair of palms lands on Bucky’s thighs, shoving them apart as Clint settles his weight there.  Bucky takes a choked breath, straining against the binds that hold him.

“Ready?” Black Widow inquires.  “Go.”

A wet, perfect, warm mouth closes around Bucky’s cock and his body wrenches so hard from the sudden contact that the only thing that keeps him from toppling over is Black Widow’s iron grip on him.  Head swimming, Bucky feels Clint’s lips tighten and slide down the length of Bucky’s cock, and Bucky wants to scream with relief.  His toes curl as Bucky struggles to get his heels under him, slipping desperately on the hardwood.  Bucky throws his head back against Black Widow and her arms come around to grip his chest.  Her body looms over him, hair brushing against his over-sensitized neck.  Clint’s mouth is _fucking glorious_ and his tongue is an expert, finding all the right spots.  Bucky’s mouth hangs open, airy, needy sounds escaping from his throat.  He turns his head and shouts into Black Widow’s side when Clint suctions his mouth over Bucky’s cock head.  Lungs full of Black Widow’s spicy scent, Bucky finally gets his feet under him and begins to thrust himself up into Clint’s mouth.

And Clint takes it like a fucking champ, deep throating Bucky effortlessly.  And when Clint does that thing with his tongue, sliding along Bucky’s slit deliciously, Bucky thinks that he isn’t going to last very long. 

“I’m not gonna last long,” Bucky gasps against Black Widow’s neck.

“Well that’s the point,” Black Widow chuckles.  “It’s a race.”

Pieces finally fall into place and Bucky thinks that he’s going to lose his mind.  A long, drawn-out groan is punctuated from his lungs.  The words his lips form next, Bucky has no control over.  He babbles incoherently, somewhere between pleading and adoration.  Black Widow just chuckles and pulls Bucky back harder.

“I think Clint likes the way you throat fuck him,” Black Widow growls, voice taking on that wrecked, primal quality that Bucky loves.  “Do you want to see?”

Bucky nods like a fucking fool, the way Clint’s pushed back his foreskin making him lose his ability to form words.  Unexpectedly, Bucky’s nipple is caught and twisted so hard that he screams out in pain.

“Use your _words_ ,” Black Widow snarls.

“Yes, Headmistress!” Bucky screams.

The blindfold tears away from Bucky’s eyes.  It takes him a moment for his vision to adjust, but when it finally does, Bucky realizes that he’s staring down at Clint, his mouth full of Bucky’s cock and his eyes staring up into Bucky’s.  A desperate groan wracks Bucky’s body as he throws his head back against Black Widow.  But looking up at her reveals that she is bent to her left, kissing Bruce frantically.  Meanwhile, Tony has his face buried in Bruce’s groin, his cock stuffed down Tony’s throat.  Tony notices Bucky watching, pulling back with an obscene _slurp_ and fucking winking at Bucky.

Bucky turns his head almost violently the other direction and is greeted by the sight of no less that ten people standing on the other side of the window.

Bucky’s orgasm is crashing through him before he even realizes that he’s that close.  With a stuttered thrust into Clint’s throat, Bucky begins to pour down the warm, tight mouth closed around his cock.  Clint’s fingers grip hard into Bucky’s thighs as he swallows it down.  Bucky cries out, a broken, wrecked sound and he feels Black Widow sit up straight behind him.  Bucky’s cock falls from Clint’s mouth with a wet sound.

“We have a _winner_ ,” Black Widow announces gleefully, bending over Bucky to reach for Clint.  Clint goes to her, wiping his mouth with a slightly dazed look in his eyes.  Behind her, Bruce grabs Tony’s face and fucks into his mouth hard, teeth grit and a wild expression on his face, looking nothing like the composed, quiet doctor that Bucky’s come to know.

Clint collapses in Bucky’s lap, stretching out like a cat and watching as Bruce comes with a loud roar.  Bucky’s eyes flit back to the audience through the window.  Their hooded, aroused gazes make Bucky’s skin prickle, but not in a bad way. 

Bucky’s almost entirely slumped onto the floor by this point, Black Widow having released him.  He expects to be released from his binds.  But as Tony finally pulls away from Bruce, Black Widow doesn’t go to work on the rope.  He doesn’t expect Black Widow to get to her feet, to haul him up after her, or to force him down onto one of the spanking benches across the room.  She doesn’t say a word to him, instead turning carefully on her heels and reaching for Bruce.  With a fistful of his shirt, she hauls him towards her, catching him in a kiss.  Bruce has the look of a hunter in his eyes, and he grabs Black Widow’s waist in a rough grip.  Black Widow pulls back and whispers something into Bruce’s ear.  Bruce’s eyes land on Bucky, alight with mischief, and he nods at whatever Black Widow is saying to him.

With casual movements, Black Widow digs through her bag, producing more bundles of rope.  When her gaze moves back to Bucky, there’s a clear scheme in her eyes and a wicked grin to match it.

“Color?” Black Widow asks.

“Green, Headmistress,” Bucky says cautiously, unsure what’s going to happen next.

Black Widow’s hand lands on Bucky’s bare chest as she shoves him into a new position against the bench.  With the rope, she lashes Bucky to the furniture, his legs spread obscenely wide, back arched hard against his cramped arms.  On the floor, Tony and Clint chatter quietly back and forth before Tony lunges forward and begins to kiss Clint.  Bruce, meanwhile, watches Black Widow.

“Don’t take your eyes off of me,” Black Widow directs.

“Yes, Headmistress.”

Black Widow straightens slowly and stares down at Bucky for a long moment before turning towards Clint and Tony, nudging the former with her toe to get his attention.

“A new game,” she announces, hands on her hips.  “How many times can you and Tony get James to come before I do?”

Tony and Clint exchange a glance before they both look over at Bucky.  For his part, Bucky spasms uselessly in place, head once again spinning.  Fuck, this is all a dream, right?  It has to be.  But it can’t be, because Bucky’s never had a dream _this_ wild.

Bruce plasters himself along Black Widow’s body, kissing her passionately and twisting her in place.  Meanwhile, Tony and Clint move across the floor towards Bucky.  Bucky breaks the rule he’s been given, eyes flitting desperately between Tony and Clint, the audience outside, and Black Widow and Bruce crashing onto the bed.

Bucky’s cock is still painfully over-sensitive when Clint takes him into his mouth once again.  Bucky screams and watches as Bruce peels off Black Widow’s clothes, as he kisses along her perfect skin, and as Black Widow writhes against him, eyes finding Bucky. 

The second time Bucky comes, Bruce is kissing his way down Black Widow’s body before moving between her legs.  Bucky isn’t given even a short break, as Tony takes his softening cock into his hand and begins to jack him lavishly.  Bucky almost cries at the heated touch, because it’s too much, it’s all too fucking much. 

The third time Bucky comes, Black Widow is throwing her leg over Bruce, straddling him and sinking down onto his cock.  Bucky looks down at the pair between his legs and pleads for them to stop.  Clint looks sympathetic, but Tony just looks like he finds the entire thing incredibly funny.

Bucky’s next orgasm is much slower to come.  He feels empty, wrenched dry.  That is, until Tony finds a bottle of lube and slides his finger inside of Bucky, pressing against his prostate as Clint twirls his tongue over Bucky’s frenulum.  Meanwhile, Black Widow has begun to ride Bruce, and she looks like something out of a fever dream.  Hips rolling, body glistening with sweat, red hair hung between her shoulders, head thrown back in pleasure, and mouth wide making low, aroused, visceral noises.  For his part, Bruce is getting loud, _incredibly_ loud.  Black Widow snaps her hips, she bends down over Bruce, hand on his throat, pressing hard as she turns her head to look at Bucky.

Bucky comes for a fourth time as green eyes meet his own.

Black Widow is soon to follow, moaning and shouting, primal and animalistic.  Her hips snap at a lightning pace as she rides through her orgasm, bent over Bruce and choking him hard.  She straightens and shudders, her orgasm finally closing.  She doesn’t even pause for a post-coital kiss, leaping from the bed and crossing the room, climbing painfully into Bucky’s lap and kissing him hungrily, naked body writhing against Bucky.  Bucky kisses back, so fully exhausted that he can barely process anything more than absolute adoration.  Her fingers work, untying Bucky’s arms as she kisses him, grinding against Bucky and growling under her breath.  Finally, _finally_ Bucky’s arms are freed and he immediately wraps them around Black Widow.  He never wants to let go.

“How many times did he come?” Black Widow pants, eyes closed but directing the question at Clint.

“Three times, Headmistress.”

Black Widow chuckles and closes the space between them again, her mouth hungry and aggressive.

When she pulls away again, this time climbing off of Bucky, Bucky groans unhappily.

“Oh, be quiet,” she snaps playfully.  “You just came four times.  How many times did you come Bruce?”

Bruce, looking a bit dazzled on the bed, rolls over onto his side.

“One.”

“What about you Clint?  Tony?”

“Well give us a few minutes and we might have something to report,” Tony mutters from where he’s pinned to the floor by Clint’s ministrations.

“And I only came once,” Black Widow continues, bending over Bucky and beginning to untie his legs.  “So I think you got the best deal out of this whole situation.”

“Not complaining, ma’am,” Bucky manages to mutter, slumping forward on sore limbs when he is finally freed.  “I just didn’t think it was possible.”

Black Widow chuckles again.

“I think you’ll learn that that phrase has very little meaning around us.”

Bucky doesn’t know why, but he begins to laugh.  It’s a watery, wrung out sound, but he can’t help himself.  Sliding onto the floor and slumping against the wall, exhausted, Bucky laughs to himself.

What has Bucky gotten himself into?


	12. Caged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been ten months since I've posted, holy shit the writers block is REAL.  
> Anyway, here's a chapter even though I'm sure that anybody who was waiting for the next one gave up long ago. I wouldn't blame you!

 

 

It’s past 3:00 AM when they leave the club, a tangle of loose limbs and giggling faces that the snow doesn’t seem to bother.  Bucky is still a bit dazed honestly.  He’s being guided along by Nat’s strong arm, his body heavy and humming.  Vaguely, Bucky thinks about the time in high school when he had successfully snuck out of his bedroom at night and tried ecstasy with his friends.  He had stayed up all night at a club, a brightly colored, lowly thumping blur of sights and sensations, each swimming towards him in the hazy reality that he can neither truly forget nor fully remember.  Even when he had been dragged home around sunrise, tired and overstimulated, his body had still felt like a live wire.  A similar sensation is thrumming through him currently.  A restless energy deep in exhausted muscles.  The need for sleep and the need for adrenaline tugging at him equally, body both sated and starving.  But Bucky certainly hasn’t been taking drugs tonight, besides the few hits of weed he had at the house.  In fact, he doesn’t even think he’s had an alcoholic beverage since Clint’s room.  No, Bucky’s not artificially chased this sensation, but somehow he’s stumbled into it by chance.  And Bucky doesn’t want it to end.

As Bucky is led into the car, he turns to stare up at Black Widow.  She’s not as put together as at the beginning of the night. There are hairs out of place, sweat and the scent of sex dried into her skin, her makeup is smudged in places, her clothes are slightly askew.  But, dammit, that just makes Bucky want her more.  Something primal stirs in his stomach seeing her like that.  Bucky stares at her in awe, with what can only be the most pathetic of expressions.  But he doesn’t care, he can’t bring himself to care.  He’s rewarded when Black Widow smiles back, brilliant and beautiful.  

The car ride passes quickly in a hum of conversation and laughter.  There’s an energy inside the vehicle that surprises Bucky.  He’d expected for everyone to be winding down, but the opposite seems to be true.  Tony, most of all, seems to be revving up impossibly higher, talking a million miles an hour and pausing often to kiss Bruce hungrily.  Bucky doesn’t talk much, instead taking advantage of a quiet moment in his head to try to recall all that had happened through the night.  He can’t remember if this sense of contentment and willingness had settled over him slowly or all at once, but he knows it started around the time he was being shuffled to the shower by Clint after the first scene.

The water had been warm and Clint’s fingers had been gentle and Bucky had been somehow still _so horny_.  It was like instinct took him over.  Bucky chased his every whim, never thinking too terribly hard as he had kissed Clint lazily as the water ran over their bodies.

It was easy, so easy to just do as he was asked, especially when it was Black Widow asking in her low purr of a voice, with her green eyes alit with mischief or desire.  It was easy to get dressed, to go back down to the main floor, to climb up onto one of the small raised stages near the wall, and to suck Clint off in front of an audience at Nat’s insistence.  It’d been years since Bucky had sucked a cock.  He should have been worried or nervous, but he wasn’t.  Under Black Widow’s intense gaze and hungry instruction, Bucky had found release.  Not a physical release, not an orgasm.  But something better.  Total mental release, emotional release.  And it was _glorious_.  Better than any orgasm Bucky had ever had in his life.  Freedom, total and complete freedom.  No worry, no shame, no anxiety, no decisions, not even real thoughts, running purely on instinct.  He was lost and he was found simultaneously.  Bucky was so far from his normal shore, but he had a competent captain driving him wherever they were going, and Bucky was fine with whatever strange land they found.  The irony of the fact that it took complete surrender to submission to find freedom didn’t escape Bucky, not even in the state he was in.

The night had continued on and the leash Bucky wore was both real and metaphorical, Black Widow and hedonism his masters.  Bucky went where he was led, his masters in almost constant agreement of where to go, all Bucky had to do was follow. 

Inside the car, Bucky nuzzles into the body beside him.  He isn’t sure who it is, but they put their arm around him and Bucky loses himself into his thoughts again.

There were walls within Bucky’s mind, walls in which he had lived his entire life.  Looming and massive, they’ve kept him in, kept him a prisoner, trapped and constrained.  After so many years, Bucky had simply accepted the walls, accepted his prison.  The walls were a part of life, everyone around Bucky lived within similar walls, it wasn’t so bad, Bucky had convinced himself.  But tonight…the walls had turned to mist and scattered on the wind, leaving Bucky standing in a wide open plain of unexplored possibility.  There were so many places Bucky wanted to go, so many things he wanted to try.  It was overwhelming, but Bucky wasn’t afraid because he wasn’t alone.  He had guides he could trust, and that was a comfort unlike anything Bucky has felt before.   

The car comes to a stop and everyone begins to pour out into the massive garage.  Bucky shoves himself out, squinting at the hard lights overhead.  Tony loops his arm through Bucky’s and begins driving him forward.  Bucky goes easily, looking over at the wide, expectant grin on Tony’s face.

“Have fun tonight?” Tony asks, barely containing the glee in his voice.

Bucky nods.  Fun has certainly been part of the night.

“Best part’s about to start,” Tony promises with a wink _and_ a nod.  He’s taken on a cartoonish character, bobbling and bouncing, unrestrained excitement personified.  Bucky has no idea what Tony’s talking about but he nods anyway because he still can’t care.  Bucky’s along for the ride.

The group around Bucky is Black Widow, Clint, Tony, Bruce, Wanda, Jarvis, Alias, Cage, and Danny.  They smile and they laugh and the lean against each other, hands exploring.  Black Widow leads the way upstairs, an absolutely ravenous look on her face.  The door to the Red Room is thrown open.  The lights within are low and the air is almost too warm.  Bucky rides a wave of bodies inside.  Immediately, Jess throws Cage onto the bed and straddles him hungrily.  Wanda and Nat at chatting across the room as Jarvis undoes Wanda’s tight red corset.  Tony’s arm, still through the crook of Bucky’s elbow, yanks hard, spinning Bucky to face Tony. 

“Good God, you are attractive,” Tony says, running a hand through his hair.

A bit taken aback, all Bucky can do is laugh.  Some logical part of his brain buried deep in the haze shrieks, _Tony fucking Stark just called you attractive._ In what upside down wonderland is Bucky currently residing?  Bucky is grinning like a fool and when Tony asks if he can kiss him, Bucky can only nod dumbly.

Tony’s lips are immediately frantic and searching.  His hands come up to grip Bucky hard before yanking off Bucky’s jacket.  It hits the floor beside Bucky’s feet, leaving him entirely topless.  Tony’s fingers continue to explore, digging into Bucky’s hip and the mental of his upper left arm.  Bucky is oddly alright with Tony pawing at his left arm.  _He made the damn thing, after all,_ Bucky thinks.  Tony’s lips explore along Bucky’s jawline, the hair of his goatee scratching roughly against the skin of Bucky’s face, before moving down to Bucky’s neck.  Bucky is surprised when his back hits the wall.  He hadn’t even realized that he had been backing up.  Tony’s body leans against Bucky’s, hips beginning to roll as Tony nips playfully at Bucky’s ear.   

Tony’s fingers drift across Bucky’s body, up along his abdomen, pinching at his nipple.  Bucky grips Tony’s shoulder, moaning softly as Tony’s mouth moves down his throat and over his collarbones.  Suddenly, Tony’s head snaps backwards.  Bucky blinks up at Black Widow, her fist buried in Tony’s dark hair.  She hauls him off of Bucky, Tony whining insistently. 

“ _I didn’t give you permission to touch_ ,” Black Widow growls in Tony’s ear.  With a flick of her wrist, she throws Tony back so hard that he stumbles to the ground.  Bucky flinches, but there’s a look of bemusement on Tony’s face that would suggest that he liked the exchange.  Tony scrambles to his hands and knees and crawls to Black Widow’s feet.

“I’m sorry, Headmistress.  Please forgive me, Headmistress,” Tony begs dramatically.  “Punish me, Headmistress.  _Teach me a lesson!_ ”

Bucky catches a smirk on Nat’s lips before she bends forward and grabs Tony by the hair again.  Roughly and with surprising strength, Black Widow turns and begins to haul Tony across the room.  Tony yelps, wincing as he grabs for her wrist to support his weight.  The other people in the room are starting to take notice.  Bucky slides down the wall to the floor, unsure if he’s in trouble.  Was he not supposed to kiss Tony?  Did he get Tony in trouble?  Is this something Tony wanted?  Even twisted in pain, Tony’s face is still full of humor.  When Black Widow finally releases him, Tony grins stupidly in a way that says he’s enjoying this. 

“On the bench,” Black Widow barks, pointing to the spanking bench.

Tony seems to think about that for a moment.

“Now why would I do that?” Tony asks, cocking his head.

Black Widow doesn’t wait.  She grabs Tony hard in a choke hold.  Tony sputters, grabbing at Black Widow’s arm as she hauls him to his feet and manhandles him towards the bench.  Tony resists, twisting and straining, trying to escape Black Widow’s grip.  Bucky has no idea how she’s doing this in heels and lingerie, but Black Widow seems to barely be breaking a sweat as she forces Tony onto the bench.  With one hand, Black Widow holds her weight against Tony while she grabs a hank of rope in her other hand.  The jute unravels and in an instant, Black Widow as wrapped it around Tony’s wrists.  Tony continues to buck, but Black Widow easily restrains his hands tightly behind his back.  Next, she jams her fingers hard into Tony’s side, looping the rope around the bench to secure his chest down when he winces and bends over in pain.

Bucky is almost hypnotized watching Black Widow work.  He has no fucking idea where she learned to do something like this, but she makes lightning quick work of binding Tony to the bench.  Tony makes his usual obscene or snarky remarks.  Black Widow rolls her eyes every time before slapping him hard as punishment.  Of course, Tony then groans happily, getting what he apparently wants.  When Black Widow finally steps back, Tony is tied face down over the bench, legs tied frog style and arms wrenched upwards at a painful angle.  Black Widow’s even wrapped the rope roughly around Tony’s face, over his eyes and in his mouth, finally shutting him up.  Black Widow takes a deep breath and reaches for a switch.

“Touching things that aren’t yours,” Black Widow muses, running her hand over the smooth wood of the switch.  “How many times am I going to have to teach you this lesson?”

Tony mumbles something incomprehensible against the rope, shimming in his restraints.

Black Widow touches the switch against Tony’s exposed ass.  Tony shivers.

“Tony, you’re such a bratty pain slut,” Black Widow observes, cocking her head.  “We all know you want this punishment.  Don’t you?”

Tony nods happily.  Black Widow leans forward, grabbing Tony’s hair hard.

“Well then it’s not a really punishment, is it?” Black Widow hisses. 

Black Widow releases Tony and straightens, dropping the switch back into her bag. 

“I have a better punishment in mind,” Black Widow says.  “A _real_ punishment for you.”

Black Widow turns and walks away.  She eyes Bucky across the room before turning and calling over her shoulder.

“You’ll stay there in time out while we play.” 

Tony whimpers and begins to thrash against his restraints.  He’s trapped, not going anywhere, no matter how desperately he shouts against the rope.  Bucky’s eyes go wide, but then Black Widow is in front of him, reaching for him.  Bucky shoves himself up onto his knees, staring up at Nat.  She is a Goddess, radiant and glorious, and Bucky wants only to worship her in this moment.  He’s never known anyone like this woman, and he wants to belong to her for the rest of eternity.  Bucky hugs close to Black Widow’s leg, nuzzling against her stockings.  A small smile on her lips, Black Widow reaches down and pets Bucky’s hair.

“Come with me,” Black Widow says.

Bucky immediately drops to his hands and crawls after her.  Tony is still thrashing against the bench.  Jess is riding Cage furiously on the bed.  Jarvis is sucking Bruce’s cock in the corner.  Bucky’s head swims as Black Widow instructs him to sit on the floor beside Clint, who is leaned against the wall with a lazy grin on his face.  Once Bucky is seated, Black Widow turns to where Wanda is reclined on the dark red couch wearing nothing but a pair of lacy underwear, her long hair down and spread around her. 

Clint and Bucky watch as Black Widow kneels herself between Wanda’s thighs.  She bends over the other woman, kissing her gently, a far cry from the violence and strength she had been using just a minute ago.  Nat relishes Wanda’s body, kissing her slowly, hands roving.  Smooth skin slides over smooth skin, red hair spilling about.  Bucky’s chest seizes, his cock immediately getting hard.  Beside him, Clint shifts, pawing at the cock cage that Black Widow had put back on him at the end of the night at Asgard. 

Nat works her way down Wanda’s body.  First, she kisses her neck, leaving a trail of bright red lipstick lines.  Wanda pants and writhes sensually when Nat takes her pink nipples in her mouth.  Next, Nat licks down Wanda’s heaving abdomen, before taking the lace in her fingers and pushing it aside.

The sounds the two women make as Nat begins to lick at Wanda’s pussy is like a symphony.  There are other sounds in the room.  The sound of sex, of pleasure, of distress.  There’s even music playing now, even though Bucky can’t recall when it started.  Nat’s mouth works between Wanda’s bucking hips and Clint reaches over to lightly brush his fingers against Bucky’s leg.  Bucky can’t help himself, he’s moving before he even realizes it.  Instinct is taking over once again and he needs so desperately to touch and be touched.  He turns where he sits and grabs Clint hungrily, dragging him in for a desperate kiss.  Clint goes willingly, kissing Bucky back as his hands reach for Bucky’s pants. 

It’s not long before Bucky is on his back, Clint stripping him of his boots and pants before straddling Bucky and diving forward for a hungry kiss.  Bucky watches Wanda and Nat out of the corner of his eye, Nat coaxing Wanda towards climax.  Clint turns to watch as well, still against Bucky’s chest, his hands moving down Bucky’s body.  Bucky is lost in an overwhelming swirl of sensation.  It’s as terrifying as it is glorious.  Time moves both too slow and too quickly.  Clint is kissing Bucky’s chest, shimming his underwear off.  Bucky’s cock is throbbing.  Wanda is coming loudly on the couch.  Clint takes Bucky in his hand, stroking him slowly.  Wanda and Nat kiss again and Nat is eased onto her back.

As Bucky thrusts up into Clint’s hand, Nat thrusts against Wanda’s mouth.  Nat reaches forward, eyes on Bucky.  Bucky struggles to focus on her.  She moans and gyrates, lip caught between her teeth.

“Fuck him,” Black Widow pants, nodding at Clint.  “I want to watch.”

Clint’s heard Black Widow too and he’s moving immediately.  Bucky pushes himself upright once Clint has moved off of him.  He stares at Nat, Wanda working between her legs.  Nat runs her fingers through Wanda’s long locks, a predatory look on her face as she watches Clint return with a bottle of lube.  Swimming through the moment, Bucky takes the bottle and slicks up his cock.  Clint has his back to Bucky.  He bends forward, pressing his ass up into the air.  Bucky nearly chokes when he notices the plug there, a wide strip of black silicone.  Finger shaking, Bucky reaches forward and pulls the plug slowly from Clint’s hole.  Clint makes a soft noise as the wide base of the plug pops free.  Bucky’s throat feels thick, like it’s coated with something sticky.  He glances over at Black Widow.  Her back is arched, her breath coming in high pitched bursts, her eyes watching Bucky intently.  Trying again to swallow, Bucky pulls the plug entirely out, dropping it to the ground and staring at Clint’s wide hole.  He can’t stop himself from pressing two fingers in, causing Clint to cry out.

Bucky can’t wait another second.  Lining up his cock, he thrusts forward, sliding into Clint’s body beside his fingers, inch by inch.  Clint throws his head back, gasping.  Tight, warm, slick, heat.  Bucky nearly buckles over from the relief.  He grabs Clint’s hips to steady himself and pulls back a bit before pressing back in.  Slowly, Bucky eases himself deeper and deeper with each thrust.      

“Don’t take it… _ah_ …easy on him,” Black Widow pants.

Bucky’s grip tightens and he pulls back, slamming in harder and deeper.  Clint cries out and it’s a delicious sound.  Again, Bucky pounds into Clint hard before picking up a bruising pace without warning.  The sounds Clint makes and the ones from Black Widow’s lips join into something like a siren song, unraveling Bucky’s mind piece by piece.  He thrusts into Clint, as deep and as hard as he is able, and Clint’s body begins to turn to jelly beneath him.  He plasters his upper body against the ground, head turned and eyes on Black Widow.  Bucky keeps a tight grip on Clint’s hips, so tight he’s afraid he might be leaving a bruise with his left hand, but Clint barely seems to notice.

On the couch, Black Widow comes loudly.  Wanda collapses against her chest and they lay wrapped in each other, watching Bucky and Clint with hooded eyes.  Bucky isn’t sure how much longer he is going to be able to hang on.  He can feel yet another orgasm building in the pit of his abdomen.  How many this will make tonight, Bucky has lost count.  He’s dangerously close to coming now, and it takes everything in him to turn and look at Black Widow.

“C-can I come, Headm-mistress?” Bucky manages to stutter.

He should have known better.  He should have hid his desperation better.  Black Widow can see it in his eyes, his _need_.  Bucky notices the gleam in her eyes first, and he knows what her answer is going to be.  The devastation hits before her red lips even part to reply.

“No.”

A wrenched, frustrated cry erupts from Bucky’s lungs.  He grits his teeth, tries to think of something unpleasant.  It’s hard to do with Clint _clenching_ and _writhing_ in a way that has to be intentionally aimed at making Bucky disobey Black Widow.  Bucky puts his metal hand on the small of Clint’s back to still him, pulling himself free and gripping the base of his cock tightly, desperately willing his orgasm away.

“I didn’t say stop,” Black Widow purrs.

The look Bucky shoots at his Mistress must be full of contempt.  It’s nearly impossible to hide but it only makes the woman laugh, nudging Wanda at the game of it all.

“I-I’m going to come,” Bucky attempts to reason as Clint looks back at him pouting.

“No you’re not,” Black Widow replies.  “Not until I tell you you can.”

Bucky can’t look at her.  Nor can he stand to see the pleading face that Clint is making.  He closes his eyes and gropes blindly for Clint, biting his lip so hard that he fears he might bite right through it as he slides back into the man’s tight, welcoming hole.  Instantly, his need for an orgasm crashes back into him.  Bucky isn’t sure how he’s going to resist it, and he settles for attempting to only barely thrust.  Of course that doesn’t work, as Clint has clearly taken Black Widow’s side in tormenting Bucky, and he begins to slide himself expertly up and down Bucky’s cock.  Bucky is talking, muttering about needing to come and pleading the duo to stop.  But it only makes Clint straighten up and sling an arm around Bucky’s neck, the new angle even tighter as he continues to thrust back against Bucky.  The words stop altogether then, replaced only by a series of choked noises.

Bucky’s orgasm refuses to be ignored any longer.  He tries to say please, tries desperately to ask again if he can come.  But Bucky’s lost the ability for words and he can only stare at Black Widow pleading.  She watches him with hellfire in her eyes.

“Don’t you dare come,” she growls.

It’s too late.  His orgasm crashes through Bucky in an almost violent way.  Clint cries out pressing himself against Bucky, throwing his head back as he feels Bucky spilling inside of him.  Bucky makes no sound at all, however, mouth open wide in a silent scream. 

It’s not a moment later that there is a hand around Bucky’s throat, sharp nails pressed into his skin.  Bucky goes limp, letting himself be wrenched backwards.  Clint pouts at the loss of contact, whimpering theatrically as he collapses forward, hole dripping and gapping. 

“I thought I told you not to come,” Black Widow growls in Bucky’s ear.  He slumps against her, not fighting as she maneuvers him back against the couch. 

“’m sorry, Headmistress,” Bucky attempts, looking up at her with hooded eyes.  “I-I couldn’t help it.”

“ _Exactly,_ ” Black Widow sneers.  “You can’t help yourself.”

She moves away from him for a moment, going towards the small table on which a red-shaded lamp sits and sliding open the drawer.  Bucky looks around, finding both Wanda and Clint watching himself with half bemused, half pitying looks on their faces. 

“Shouldn’ave done that,” Clint laughs, slurring slightly from where he is still collapsed in a child’s pose, face against the carpet.

Bucky wants to retort, wants to tell Clint that it’s his damn fault for _moving_ the way he did.  But Bucky’s voice still doesn’t seem to be working.  Besides, there’s a gleam in Clint’s eye that suggests he knows exactly what Bucky wants to say to him.

Black Widow returns, her perfectly manicured hand snatching up Bucky’s cock suddenly and painfully.  He lurches, unsure what’s happening.  It sure doesn’t feel great.  Wanda laughs at the way Bucky squirms.  It takes Bucky a moment to realize that Black Widow has slid a rigid, hard plastic cock cage onto Bucky’s still softening cock.  And by then, she’s clicking a tiny, metal padlock into place.  With a flourish of her hand, Black Widow dangles the small key in front of Bucky’s face.

“To help with your _control_ ,” she explains, carefully hooking the key onto a small chain around her wrist where is clinks lightly against the key to Clint’s cock cage.

Bucky stares down at his trapped cock helplessly.  The very act of Nat forcing the thing onto his dick has left him feeling stimulated.  That coupled with a suddenly sharp stab of arousal that Bucky feels when he looks at the thing already has him growing fruitlessly hard beneath the rigid plastic.  And that sensation is helped along painfully when Clint suddenly crawls forward and takes Bucky’s tightly packed cock into his mouth.  Bucky jumps, pulling back instantly.  But it’s too late, Bucky’s getting hard.

Black Widow’s long nails curl into Bucky’s shoulders and pull him backwards against her once more.  The world spins around Bucky, he’s losing track of time again, slipping away.  He slumps against Black Widow, breathing in the scent of her skin, like sex and roses.  She bends over him, tongue tracing the edge of his ear and sending shivers down his spine.  Her dark red lips press close to his ear and she dictates his sentence.

“I think three days is a good punishment.”

The world collapses away and Bucky is floating again.  No part of him resists, no part of him even registers that he probably should resist.  Instead, he simply exhales and loses himself once more to the sensation.  It’s the only thing he can do.


	13. Drop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beware the sub-drop. 
> 
> TW: everything associated with sub-drop/convention-drop/whatever else you want to call it. depression, anxiety, panic attacks, self-loathing, PTSD, etc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! So much support on my last chapter. Thank you guys so much, you motivate me to keep writing. I've been busy with two new jobs but I've been writing a little bit every day.

Bucky wakes in the morning to the weak sunlight peeking over a landscape blanketed in a thick layer of freshly fallen snow.  The soft white rays filter through the parted curtains of Clint’s bedroom, drawing Bucky from the comfort of Clint’s bed and the warmth of Clint’s arms.  As he stares out across the silent landscape beyond the double pane—an expansive backyard leading down towards thick woods—Bucky feels as cold and as quiet as the morning without.  It’s an odd melancholy that seems to have befallen him in the night, but Bucky tries to shake it off, drawn downstairs by the scent of food.

In the kitchen, Jarvis is obviously awake and is already plating food.  Without a word, he hands Bucky a tray the moment he steps into the overheated breakfast nook.  Bucky stares down at the two meals that have been deposited in his hands and it’s a moment before he realizes that he’s expected to take this up to Nat.

Bucky presumes to find Nat asleep in her room, but he’s determined mistaken when he knocks and is invited within.  The Headmistress is on her feet, wrapped in a silk kimono as she moves about the room, makeup and hair fully done already.  On the bed is Wanda, fully nude and lounging like a cat in the sun, stretched out across the sheets.  Her red hair spills out around her head and, for the first time in the full light, Bucky can properly see her tattoos.  Each is more archaic and pagan than the last, and her chest, back, and abdomen are absolutely covered in them. 

“I don’t remember giving you permission to gawk at me, boy,” Wanda says lazily, eyes on the ceiling.  It takes Bucky a moment to realize that she’s addressing him, and he sputters out a string of apologies before offering up the tray of food.

“Put it there,” Wanda sighs, pointing to the corner of Nat’s bed.  Bucky does as he’s told, hearing a knock at the door as he sets the tray down carefully, eyes cast down.  When he turns back around, he finds Clint edging into the room.

“Finally,” Black Widow says, hurrying across the room to grab Clint by the arm.  She drives him towards the closet, muttering to him about needing two suits and an evening gown.  Bucky’s gaze follows their path and finds a half-packed suitcase laying open inside the closet.  Bucky furrows his brow, and wants to ask if Nat is going somewhere, but before he has the chance, Wanda speaks once more.

“You’re dismissed,” she calls, waving Bucky away still without looking at him.

Bucky’s chest twists painfully.  The thought of Nat going out of town is making him feel panicked.  And panicking over Nat going out of town is making Bucky feel stupid and ashamed.  He wants to speak up, to ignore Wanda’s command.  The woman clears her throat and finally gives Bucky a pointed glare.  She’s angry about something, that much becomes clear when Bucky finally gets a look at her face.  Bucky looks back at the closet, to where Nat is still ordering Clint about as he finishes packing the suitcase.  Without thinking, Bucky speaks up.

“Are you going somewhere?”

Bucky hates how his voice sounds, so strained and thin.  Nat looks over at him.  Bucky tenses, half expecting anger at his speaking out of turn, but instead he sees…guilt.  Her face twists and she strides out of the closet, crossing the room and hooking her arm through Bucky’s.  She turns him and leads him towards the bathroom.  Bucky goes willingly.  Nat closes the door softly behind them and then sits Bucky down on the rim of the bathtub.  Without pause, she leans down, cupping his face in her hands and kissing him gently but deeply.  It takes Bucky by surprise, honestly, and he feels his panic quickly bleeding away.

When Nat breaks the kiss and pulls away, her eyes remain closed as she takes a slow breath through her nose.  Bucky watches the motion, enraptured.

“Good morning,” she breathes, eyes fluttering open as she pulls back further.

“Good morning,” Bucky replies in turn, a dopey smile spreading across his face.  Nat tucks a strand of his hair behind his ear carefully, eyes looking him over.  He wears nothing but a borrowed pair of sleep pants and Nat reaches between his legs, cupping his trapped cock and making Bucky jump.  Nat smiles at that like it’s funny and pulls Bucky against her chest.  She doesn’t stop rolling her palm over the rigid plastic that has Bucky’s sensitized member caged.  Bucky shudders and surrenders against Nat’s collarbone, not even thinking to fight her.

“Three days,” Black Widow purrs in Bucky’s ear.  “Can you handle that?”

“Yes, Headmistress,” Bucky breathes.

She pulls back again, putting both of her hands on Bucky’s shoulders and looking him in the eye.  Her pupils are wide, cheeks flushed, looking nearly as peaked as Bucky feels, but a serious expression falls over her features. 

“I got a call early this morning.  I have to go out of town for a few days,” she admits, watching Bucky’s expression carefully.  He tries hard to not let his face fall too pitifully. 

“What for?” Bucky asks, digging his nails into his flesh palm.

“Business,” Nat answers shortly, in a tone that suggests that that is all she’s going to say about that.  “I’ll be back on Wednesday morning.”

Bucky clenches down on the panic that has started to rise in his chest again.  It’s stupid for him to be feeling this way.  Nat can do whatever she pleases, whenever she pleases.  It’s just a few days.  Bucky clenches his teeth and forces himself to look at Nat fully.

“That’s technically more than three days, ma’am,” Bucky points out, in an attempt at a joke as he glances down at his crotch.  It makes Nat chuckle though, and she nods, holding up her arm to show the bracelet from which two small keys jingle.  “You’re right,” she concedes, cocking her head.  “But I’m worth waiting for.”

Bucky looks up at Nat then.  She’s gorgeous there, in the white sunlight coming through the misted glass at the other end of the large bathroom.  Taking her in with hungry eyes, his mind and his helpless cock both agree with Nat’s sentiment.

“You are, Headmistress,” Bucky whispers, breathless suddenly for no reason.

Nat smiles, wide and genuine, and bends down to kiss Bucky once more.

“I want you to promise me that if you have any problems at all with _anything_ , you’ll call me or Clint,” she says when she straightens again.  Bucky’s eyes are closed, but he nods hazily.  Black Widow’s nails dig into Bucky’s flesh shoulder though, making him open his eyes once more.  “Promise me, Bucky.”

“I promise, Headmistress.”

Another kiss, this one slower and deeper. 

“When I return,” Nat says into Bucky’s ear, biting it playfully and sending chills down his spine, “we’ll begin your training.”

The rest of the morning passes in a blur of activity.  Bucky is shuffled downstairs to help serve breakfast, and then he’s being handed his freshly laundered clothes to change into.  He barely catches another glimpse of Nat again before she’s suddenly in the main room, Clint carrying her suitcase as she says goodbye to what looks like everyone in the house lined up by the door.  Each person gets a brief but meaningful farewell from Nat, who is dressed in a long black winter coat.  Bucky takes his place awkwardly somewhere along the line, and when Nat gets to him, she smiles and runs her gloved finger along his cheekbone.

“Remember, call me with anything,” she says softly.

Then she’s gone, the black SUV crunching down the salted driveway, pulling out onto the street and disappearing, leaving Bucky with nothing but a hallowed out sensation in his chest. 

Thirty minutes later, Bucky is in his Jeep, getting ready to head home.  Clint stands beside his open door, watching him carefully.

“You feel okay, Bucky?” he asks, hands stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie.

Bucky shakes himself out of his thoughts and looks up at the other man.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sure?  You don’t have to go home, man.  You can stay and hang out if you want.”

“Nah,” Bucky shrugs.  He can’t stay here any longer.  The hallow feeling he felt when he watched Nat drive away has been replaced by something darker, something more crushing.  He feels like he’s suffocating and he needs to get away, to not be around people any longer.  “I’ve got…stuff to get done at home.  Chores.  Errands.”  His voice trails off pathetically and Bucky can tell that Clint isn’t buying it.  The other man takes a step closer, close enough to touch.

“You experienced…a lot of new stuff last night,” Clint begins.  “And Nat isn’t happy that she had to leave town.”

“Yeah, well then why did she?” Bucky snaps, shuddering at how impetuous he sounds.  He shakes himself once more and mutters an apology.  Clint just stares at him for a long moment before reaching forward and putting a hand on Bucky’s forearm.

“It’s normal to feel a-a drop after so many new experiences, Bucky,” Clint says in a soft voice that makes Bucky’s stomach roll.  “A drop in mood.  It’s your body adjusting to the rush of endorphins last night, it’s like a hangover.”

“I’m fine, really,” Bucky retorts, staring out his windshield and flexing his metal wrist uncomfortably.  Clint looks down and immediately removes his hand apologetically.  “I just want to get home.  It was a late night and I’ve got a lot to do before going back to work tomorrow.”

They both know he’s lying, but Clint lets him go anyway.  Bucky isn’t fine.  By the time he walks into his dark, cold, empty house, he really _really_ isn’t fine.  Melancholy has given away to panic which gave away to anger.  Anger directed at nobody in particular.  At first it’s Nat he’s mad at.  For leaving so suddenly, for taking the key to his fucking cock with her.  Then it’s Clint that finds Bucky’s amorphous ire.  It’s Clint’s fault he came last night, Clint’s fault that Bucky ended up in a cock cage in the first place.  The guy is always acting so nice and so casual, it’s impossible to tell what he really thinks about anything.  And Bucky’s just jumping into bed with the guy like it’s normal, like there’s nothing fucking weird or rushed about vigorously fucking your Mistress’s slave or boyfriend or whatever.  But it’s nearly impossible for Bucky to stay mad at either of them for very long so, of course, his fury falls on the target that it’s really been searching for: himself.

What the fuck is Bucky doing?  Who the hell does he think he is?  This is a bad idea, it’s all a terrible fucking idea.  He has his dick fucking locked up right now.  Why would he let that happen?  What sort of a man just let’s that happen?  How has he gotten his head so fucking twisted up?  And to think that he would ever even have a chance with a woman like Natasha.  Bucky can’t handle her.  She will chew him up and spit him out.  She’s doing this on purpose and Bucky is just falling for it.  Fuck!  He even sucked a guy off on fucking stage last night.  What if somebody Bucky knows had been there?  What if his boss or a client had been there?  What if that whole fucking thing was filmed?  Bucky had never thought to ask. 

The thoughts keep coming and they don’t stop.  There’s little logic between them, most directly contradicting the thought immediately before and after it.  It’s just a sickening broil, and Bucky is helpless against the voices in his head that shout at him how incredibly inadequate he is.  He paces about his house, hands grabbing at random items for something to occupy them, little thought given to anything he’s doing. 

He’s so sick in the head, weak and pathetic.  What would Bucky’s father think?  Oh god.  The idea alone makes Bucky grateful that the man is dead.  Bucky’s nearly thirty years old, but his father wouldn’t hesitate to beat him senseless if he were alive to find out about this shit.  _Oh how the heroes fall,_ his father would probably grumble.  _You were a man once, now look at you._   Nothing but a faggoty little cuck.

Bucky stumbles into his bathroom and swallows down a couple Xanax from his medicine cabinet.   In the medicated haze that follows, Bucky considers following through on his promise to call Clint or Nat if he has a problem.  But this isn’t a real problem.  This is something Bucky should be able to take care of himself.  He should just be able to shut down his own stupid mind.  He’s been away from them for less than a few hours, it would be pathetic to be calling already. 

 _Clint warned you about this_ , a more logical voice points out.  That just makes Bucky feel worse though.  The thought that he’s so transparent that a guy he’s known for a handful of weeks saw a break down coming from a mile away makes Bucky want to curl up on the floor.  He should have a better handle on this shit by now.

Mind still a bit fuzzy from the pills, Bucky decides to try running to get his mind clear.  He changes in his room, barely paying attention to what he’s doing and having to turn around to add more layers when he gets to the door and remembers the snow and frigid air outside.  Once he’s actually on the pavement though, feet pounding over the freshly plowed street, he finds that running with the cock cage on is no fucking treat.  It pinches and bounces heavily and the hard plastic and metal get cold _quick_.  Bucky doesn’t stop or turn around though.  Instead, he concentrates on the pain, letting it be the only thing he thinks about for a little while.  Pain is fine.  Pain Bucky can handle.

How far Bucky runs, he has no idea, he doesn’t keep track.  He runs until his lungs burn from the cold air and his legs ache.  He runs until he can’t stand the jerking of the cock cage any longer.  Looping back around his neighborhood, Bucky barely slows down his pace as he pounds up his front steps.  The moment he’s through the front door, he begins to peel off his clothes, discarding them in a trail that leads to his bathroom.  Making sure not to look at himself in the mirror, Bucky leaps into his shower and turns the water on as hot as it will go.

When Bucky emerges, skin red and angry, steam hangs heavy in the air and the sun is sinking back down behind the distant mountains.  Bucky realizes he hasn’t eaten since breakfast.  He hasn’t had much of an appetite today.  It’s early, but Bucky doesn’t want to be awake anymore.  He opens his medicine cabinet and swallows down three sleeping pills without thinking much more about it.  If he’s asleep, then he can’t overthink shit, he reasons.

The anger from earlier has simmered into a general, amorphous, unnamable negative feeling sitting in the middle of Bucky’s chest, weighing him down.  He plugs in his phone to charge, ignoring the multiple icons that show missed calls and texts, and gets into bed.  Already, the sleeping pills are pulling him towards the abyss.  Bucky goes willingly, giving himself over to the relief of sleep, glad that this day is at an end.

When Bucky wakes, it’s to a bucket of cold water being thrown over his naked, shivering body. His eyes fly open and he finds himself staring at a familiar sight: the filthy, foul smelling corner of his cell, where the dirt floor meets the stone walls, leaving a small hole where the rats and the vermin slip in at night.  Bucky is curled into a ball on that dirt floor, pain lighting up his every nerve ending.  Aching pain, burning pain, stabbing pain, all over his entire body.  And he knows that if he’s being awoken like this, there’s more pain to come. 

“ _Get up!_ ” barks a voice behind him in a heavy accent.

Bucky isn’t sure if he can.  He tries to roll over, to push himself to his knees, but to move even an inch is agony.  He reaches for his left arm, griping it gingerly.  Of all the pain, the worse began in Bucky’s left shoulder.  That’s where he was shot, after all, and his captors had little care for finding him proper medical care or even basic sanitation.  Bucky had tried his best to care for the wound with what little supplies he had, back when he had the energy and the sanity to do such a thing.  But the torture was daily, and Bucky’s captors had taken advantage of the wound, shoving their filthy fingers and instruments into the weeping holes.  Of course it became infected.  And of course that infection had grown. 

A week ago, the red hot, enflamed flesh around the bullet wounds had begun to turn black and shrivel away.  The necrosis spread, predictably, and it was only a handful of days before the entirety of Bucky’s upper arm was black, dead, and unmoving. 

Staring at the shriveled, foul-smelling appendage now, Bucky knows that he’s going to lose it.  The only question is whether or not he’ll be dead first.  The infection is coursing through his blood, that much he realizes.  It’s why he can’t haul himself up off the floor.  Death is coming for Bucky.  Finally.

The voice outside the cell is impatient.  It shouts at him in a language Bucky doesn’t understand and then the cell door rattles open.  A pair of boots appear on the ground on either side of Bucky’s face and a moment later, he’s hauled upright.  The pain is…all consuming.  Bucky wishes the infection would just take him already and end his suffering.  Instead, it’s his captors that take him and drag him down the hall and into what Bucky calls the Pain Room in his head. 

The two guards strap Bucky upright into a metal chair with a series of thick leather straps.  Bucky immediately slumps forward, too weak to hold himself upright.  Things are…hazy, muffled.  A symptom of sepsis, no doubt.  Bucky counts it as a blessing.  The normal song and dance takes place before him.  The best English speaker in the group, a man who claims to have gone to Oxford, steps into the room and reads off a name.  It’s always a name Bucky recognizes.  Always an HVT that the Howling Commandos apprehended in a black ops mission.  That had scared Bucky at first.  Because that meant that these people, whoever they are, know things that they shouldn’t.  It means that the ambush was planned _for_ the Howling Commandos.  It means that they had planned to capture and torture Bucky, or at least someone like him.

Now though, that thought doesn’t scare Bucky much.  Maybe it’s because he’s about to die.  It’s hard to be afraid of anything anymore.  Just like every day, the English speaker demands to know about the name he’s read off.  Where are they being held?  What are the charges being brought against them?  What evidence was gathered?  Just like every day, Bucky recites the only thing he can in response.

“Sergeant James Barnes, 107th Howling Commandos, 32557038.”

And just like every day, when Bucky denies them the information they want, even though he has no idea of the answers to their questions, the pain begins anew.  Even with the misty quality to reality from the infection in his blood, the pain is still fresh and all-consuming.  Bucky screams as they dig their knives into his atrophied, dead arm, as they peel away his remaining fingernails, as they press hot irons to his flesh.  He screams and screams until his lungs are raw, until he feels like he has no breath left, until he is pleading for death.  He screams until he finds himself not strapped to a metal chair in a bunker in the middle of the desert, but instead wrapped up in his own sweat soaked sheets.  He thrashes about, confused, slipping off the bed and crashing into his bedside table.

In the confusing place between dream and reality, Bucky leaps to his feet and takes off in a half-run out of his room and into the bathroom.  Gulping down unsteady breathes of air, he wheels around and looks in the mirror.  The sight of that metal monstrosity connected to the left side of Bucky’s body, the confirmation of its reality, is all that it takes to send Bucky spiraling into a full on panic attack.

Gasping for air, thin, confused tears running down his face, Bucky collapses to the floor of his bathroom, helpless against the memories that start flooding his mind, start dragging him into the past.

There’s the memory of the ambush.  Of the blood and the confusion and the death.  The mangled bodies of his teammates and the twisted remains the convoy vehicles littering the sand as Bucky tries to take cover and return fire.  But he’s surrounded and it’s too late.

Bucky spent just over a month in that shitty, underground hideout, being tortured daily for information that he didn’t have.  When he was rescued by a SEAL team—so very close to death that even his saviors were sure he wouldn’t make it—they hadn’t even known he was there.  The SEALs were there on a black ops mission of their own to capture that Oxford educated English speaker that had been directing Bucky’s torture.  His captors were smart and they had stolen all the dog tags from the bodies of his teammates and burned the wreckage so hot and so long that by the time a recovery team found the remains, there was very little left with which to identify bodies.  Bucky had been counted among the KIA and his sister had received that dreaded visit.

Of course, Bucky hadn’t learned any of that until he had been awoken from an induced coma two months after his rescue.  When Bucky had opened his eyes to the blinding white of the clean, German hospital, he had thought that he really had died.  But he was wrong.  Part of him wishes he had died in that filthy hole, it would have saved him the memory of waking in that bed, looking down and finding that his left arm and a good portion of his shoulder and collarbone had been removed.

On his hands and knees, Bucky crawls into his bedroom, mind still trapped in his memories.  Stuck somewhere between that German hospital and that horrific bunker, Bucky doesn’t realize that he’s grabbed his phone from where it sits and is dialing.  He doesn’t realize that he’s made a call or who he’s called until a voice answers on the other line.

“Hello?  Bucky?”

Bucky blinks a few times, looking down at his hand to find his cell phone.  It takes him longer than it should to read the contact name.  _Black Widow_.

“Bucky?” Nat insists again.  “Are you there?”

“Um…” is all that Bucky can manage, shuddering violently as he looks around his dark, empty bedroom.  What time is it?  What is happening?

“Are you alright?  What’s going on?” Nat asks, voice pitched with concern.  Bucky is sure that his ragged, uneven breathing is giving him away, but he can’t seem to calm himself down.  His brain is coming apart, turning to vapor and drifting away.  It’s hard to remember, hard to think at all.  Why did he call Nat?

“Nightmare,” he mutters into the receiver.  “I had a nightmare, ‘m sorry.”

Bucky looks down at his left arm, half expecting to find a rotting, blackened appendage.  The shiny metal almost makes him jump with surprise. 

“What was the nightmare about?” Nat asks softly.

Bucky thinks a moment.

“The Pain Room,” he sighs, reaching his flesh fingers out to run over the cool metal of his left arm.  He can almost smell the fetid dead tissue that used to be there.

“I’m sending Clint over to your place,” Nat says in a matter-of-fact way, clearly trying to hide the concern in her voice.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Bucky argues, looking across at the darkened, frosted window of his bedroom.

“So?” Nat retorts.  “He told me that you were in a weird mood when you left the Manor.  Did you just freak out all day yesterday?”

Bucky tries to think back to the earlier day.

“No,” he defends weakly.

“Don’t lie to me,” Nat replies in a harsh, no-nonsense way.  “Why didn’t you call me last night?”

“I freak out most days,” Bucky shrugs, unsure why he’s admitting that.  “I don’t need to bother people with that shit.”

“Bucky, I gave you an order to call me if you had any problems,” Nat snaps.  She’s taken on the tone of an angry teacher or a disappointed mother, and it’s clearing the haze in Bucky’s brain quite effectively. 

“It’s not a problem,” Bucky says, slumping down against the wall.  “It’s just my life.  My brain.  It’s fucked up.”

“Your brain is doing exactly what it evolved to do,” Nat insists.  “It’s not your fault you went through trauma, but your brain is doing what anybody else’s would do if they had been through the same.  You’re _not_ fucked up.”

Bucky laughs ruefully, petulantly, sounding worn.  Nat huffs on the other end.

“Do you think I’m a woman of poor taste, Bucky?” she asks, voice tight. 

“What?”

“Do you think I’m an ill judge of character?  That I’m some sort of fool?”

“Of course not,” Bucky replies, confused.

“Then why do you think I would chose to allow you in my life if you were fucked up?  If there were something irredeemable about you, do you think I’d so readily let you into my home?  My family?”

Bucky swallows hard.

“I’m good at hiding it,” he mutters, arguing for the sake of arguing.  It’s a distraction.

“Do you have any idea how many men approach me every damn day of my life?” Nat continues, ignoring Bucky’s comment.  “You’re the one I claim, Bucky.”

There’s a long, heavy silence that follows Nat’s words.  A silence in which an unnamable sensation spreads through Bucky’s body, replacing panic and terror with warmth and exhaustion.  Bucky says nothing because he can think of nothing more to say.  Instead, he draws his knees tight into his chest, tucking his chin and folding in on himself.  On the other end, Nat takes a soft breath.

“Do you have tea?” she asks.

It takes Bucky a moment to process the question.

“Uhm, yeah, I think so.  In my kitchen.”

“Good.  Put the phone on speaker and take it with you.  I want you to make two cups.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky mutters, pulling the phone away from his ear so he can turn it to speaker.  On numb legs, he climbs to his feet and pads barefoot downstairs.  Nat doesn’t speak, but Bucky can hear what sounds like sheets shifting and her constant, soft breathing.  He finally checks the clock on his phone, finding it to be 3:22am.

In the kitchen, Bucky starts to make tea.  While he waits for the kettle to boil, he asks Nat about her trip in an attempt to distract himself from his still shaking hands.  He asks how it’s going, where she is, what’s on the agenda.  Nat gives short, vague answers like, “good,” “New York,” and “just some business.”  She’s being tight-lipped but Bucky can’t bring himself to hold it against her.  It is the middle of the night, after all, and Bucky most likely woke her from sleep.  Mostly, the silence continues between them, but Bucky is okay with that.  It’s almost like having Nat in the room, and that’s a comfort.

By the time Bucky is steeping bags of green tea into two mugs, there is a soft knock on the door.  “That oughta be Clint,” Nat says softly, yawning.  “I’m going to go.  Take care of yourself, Bucky, please.”

Bucky tells her goodbye and hangs up the phone before going to the door.  Clint stands on Bucky’ front porch, snow falling softly around him, bundled up in a thick black coat and wearing sweatpants and slippers.  Despite the late hour and the no doubt unexpected task of driving across town, Clint still gives Bucky a wide, amicable smile.

“Hey, man,” he greets brightly.  Bucky steps aside to allow Clint in.  Clint moves inside, peering at Bucky as he passes.  “You look like shit, man.”

Clint keeps walking further into Bucky’s house, looking around curiously.  “Nice pad,” he says, eyes going to the two cups of tea steaming on the kitchen island.  “May I?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Clint snatches one, blows on it then takes a sip.

“Green tea, nice,” he comments quietly.  “So what’s going on?”

Bucky shakes his head.

“I just…had a nightmare.  You didn’t have to come all the way out of here.”

“It’s not a problem,” Clint shrugs.  “Wanna talk about it?”

Bucky crosses his arms and shakes his head, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Not really.”

Clint shrugs again.

“That’s alright.”

He wanders into Bucky’s dark living room, walking along the wall and peering at the framed photos and artwork Bucky has displayed.  Bucky watches him, still leaned against the counter, sipping his own mug of tea.  It should feel weird, having Clint in his house in the middle of the night, with the remnants of a panic attack still clinging to his lungs.  But it doesn’t, and the longer Bucky ponders Clint and Natasha and his own odd feelings about it all, the nightmare that wrenched him from bed is quickly being forgotten.  Only the dark shape of the memory remains, ill-defined and becoming blurrier.

“What unit were you in?” Clint asks from across the room, drawing Bucky’s attention.  He finds the sandy-haired man peering at a small framed photograph on Bucky’s shelf.  Bucky knows the photo, and he swallows hard.  So much for forgetting.

“The, uhm, the 107th.”

Clint turns and raises his eyebrows, impressed.  Bucky expects a line of questions, but instead Clint crosses his arms, cocks his head, glances back at the photo and speaks.

“I was in the Army once upon a time.”

Bucky perks up.

“Really?” he says.

“Yeah,” Clint smiles, turning to wander back towards Bucky, taking a sip of his tea.  “I was a kid.  Signed up on the 18th birthday.  I was only in for about eight months though.”

Bucky furrows his brow.

“What happened?”

Clint sighs, setting down his tea and unbuttoning his coat as he comes back into the kitchen.

“I went to basic at Jackson, eleven bravo, and then straight into a unit that was already on deployment orders.  A month after I graduated basic, I was in Iraq.  And three months after that, my HMMWV hit an IUD.”  Clint’s demeanor remains ever casual, but Bucky cringes.  He hit enough roadside bombs in his time to know the horror of it.  “That was back when we were using damn sandbags on the floorboards as protection.”  He leans across the island towards Bucky and turns his head, tapping a finger against the hearing aid in his ear.  “Sixty percent hearing loss in the left ear, ninety in the right.  Over fifty percent hearing loss is grounds for medical discharge, so they gave me a purple heart and sent me on my way.  I was back home before I even turned nineteen.”

“Jesus, dude,” Bucky mutters, sipping his tea because he’s at a loss for what more to say or do. 

Clint just shrugs and smiles.

“It kinda sucked, but it was probably for the best,” he says.  “I had done archery in high school, and I was pretty good at it.  But damn, when I turn off my hearing aids, it’s like turning on this ultra-focus.  I don’t know if I would have gotten to the Olympics otherwise.  I needed something to do afterwards, so I went back to the sport.”  Clint sighs heavily, settling Bucky with a look.  “Life’s funny that way sometimes.  Bad things don’t have to stay bad.  Sometimes it’s exactly what you need to get where you ought to be.”

Bucky tightens his jaw, glancing at his hands self-consciously. Clint straightens and moves around the island towards him.  Clint is a little bit shorter than Bucky, but he reaches up and runs a hand through his hair.

“Let’s go to bed.”

Maybe Bucky should fight against it.  He can practically hear his father’s disapproving voice in his head.  But…it feels good to let someone in.  It feels good to lead Clint upstairs, to turn off the lights and to settle lightly against the other man.  It feels so good that Bucky forgets about his nightmare entirely and falls into a deep, dreamless sleep with Clint’s arms around his waist.

 

 


	14. Completion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chastity devices are super fun!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me a while, but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. Enjoy!

When Bucky wakes again, he forgets for a moment where he is.  He forgets who the warm presence behind him is.  He forgets what transpired in the night.  And he forgets to really care.  When Bucky turns over to find a mess of sandy hair on the pillow next to his, it feels almost amusing to remember.  The guilt comes next, and the shame, but it’s not so bad.  Bucky forces himself to think about something else, to bury himself deeper in the warm sheets and forget about the discomfort that starts to bloom in his chest.  The movement seems to draw Clint from his slumber though.  He turns over to blink blearily at Bucky and smile in a sleepy sort of way that’s enduring.

“Good morn’n,” Clint slurs, rubbing his eyes.  He stretches his whole body, long and shuddering against the sheets.  When he sits up, he runs a hand through his messy hair, his gaze running up and down Bucky’s body nonchalantly. “When do you have to be at work?  Can I take you to breakfast?”

It’s casual, as if waking up in Bucky’s bed is the most normal thing for Clint in the world, so casual that Bucky nods, suddenly hungry beyond measure. 

When Bucky finally forces himself to climb out of bed, the exhaustion from the night’s events sets in.  He really doesn’t feel like going to work today, but he dresses himself quickly anyway.  It’s easy, almost pleasant, having Clint around.  Bucky lends him a clean shirt and they go through a local café for a quick bite.  He’s easy to be around, Clint, never awkward or pushy or overly-concerned.  He always knows what to say to keep Bucky at ease, and Bucky tries his hardest not to fight it, to enjoy a pleasant thing for being pleasant without overthinking it.

Sometime during Bucky’s eggs benedict, both of their phones light up with a message from Nat.  It’s the same photo of her sitting in the driver’s seat of an expensive rental car, dressed smartly in an expensive pant suit, her hair up in a neat ponytail.  But her jacket and shirt are unbuttoned, revealing her exposed breasts.  She winks at the camera, smiling.

 _Have a good day, boys_ , the accompanying message reads.

Clint finds it funny, glancing at the photograph for only a moment before putting his phone face down on the counter with a bemused smile.  Bucky, the fool, ogles at the photograph for a good thirty seconds before he realizes why Clint’s chosen to ignore the taunting image.   Because Bucky’s trapped cock takes an interest, a sudden reminder of the chastity device that’s equally frustrating and arousing.  Bucky huffs, mirroring Clint’s action of dropping his phone screen down on the table.  Clint just laughs at him.

“She likes to tease,” Clint warns.  “She’s probably only just getting started.”

Bucky doesn’t like the sound of that.  His imagination runs wild, which, of course, doesn’t help with the frustrating reality of his trapped cock.  Clint is right though, and by the time Bucky is putting his things away in his locker at work, his phone lights up again.  Bucky, still a fucking fool, opens the message and glances at the photo.

This time, Nat is alone in a spacious, gold-accented elevator, lined with mirrors.  Her shirt and jacket are again unbuttoned, pulled back fully with her pants also unbuttoned now, revealing the black lace thong pulled up just above her waistline, over her perfect hipbones.  She poses in the mirror, the reflections all around her showing her flawless body from every angle.  Bucky only gets one glimpse of it, he doesn’t even read the message, but one glimpse is enough.  He shoves his phone into his bag and marches out onto the floor, but everywhere he looks, in every mirror he can practically see Black Widow grinning at him, one hand cradling her breast, the other holding her phone as she snaps a photo of her reflection with a glint in her eye.  The cock cage becomes a real _,_ inescapable _thing_ , never far from Bucky’s mind.  When the customers and clients talk to him, he can barely hear a word they say.  He practically wants to scream at them, _I’m wearing a cock cage!_   The frustration never allows the thought to stray, it’s all he can think about.

At noon, when Bucky has an hour for lunch, he grabs his phone and takes it to his car, driving until he finds an empty, secluded parking lot, and finally reopens his messaging app.

There’s a video waiting for him.  It’s only a few seconds.  In it, Nat seems to be in a public bathroom stall, pressed against the wooden wall.  The camera tilts down to where her pants and thong have been pushed down just far enough that when she turns around and bends at her waist, Bucky can see the glittering head of an anal plug between her perfect ass cheeks.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Bucky groans, pressing his hand down hard on the rigid plastic that traps his cock.  The relief it grants is minimal, serving instead to only make him _hornier_.  Irritated, Bucky tries desperately to find a way that he can stroke his rapidly hardening and uncomfortable cock.  No angle, no pressure, no pace does anything but make him want the cage off even more.  He _needs_ to come, or he’s going to go insane.

 _Please Headmistress youre going to drive me crazy_ , he types out desperately.

His phone chirps not a minute later.

_That’s the point._

Bucky roars, beats his palms against his steering wheel, again tries pressing down on his hard, restrained cock to no avail, roars again and pulls at his hair.  An idea enters his mind and he acts on it before he can overthink it.

 _How do I deal with how fucking horny I am?  I’m gonna get fucking fired man I swear_ , Bucky types out in a message to Clint.

The answer he gets is a link to a youtube video.  When Bucky follows it, he finds a one hour loop of the Barney “Clean Up,” song.  It takes Bucky a second to get it.  But when he turns the obnoxious song on his speakers, cranks it to full volume and leans back in the driver seat, by the fourth time the song is starting over again, Bucky is finding it pretty easy to forget about Nat and her teasing.  By the seventh time, Bucky’s cock has given up entirely.  He drives back to the gym, the Barney song still blasting in its irritating entirety.  By the time Bucky gets back to work, his frustrations have a new target: this horrid song.  It’s a relief to turn off his car and open the door, halting the Clean Up Song in the middle.

Bucky makes it through the rest of his shift with his phone locked securely in his locker.  He forces himself to think of innocuous things: football, his childhood dog, his grandmother.  The day passes slowly but without incident.  He keeps himself successfully distracted.  A few hours before he gets off, Jess comes in for the evening shift.  She takes one look at Bucky, cocks her head, and blurts out, “What the fuck is wrong with you?  You look weird.”

“Thanks, Jess,” Bucky glowers.

Jess shrugs.

“Call it like I see it, my man,” she retorts.  “Seriously, what’s wrong?  Is it Josh?  He looks pissed about something.  What did you do?”

“For once, my mood has absolutely nothing to do with Josh,” Bucky replies, eyes sliding across the gym to where Josh is in the middle of a session with a client.  “What time are you off?  Can you come over?”

Jess gives Bucky a scrupulous glance but tells him she can be over around 8:30. 

At the end of Bucky’s shift, he doesn’t dare glance at his phone, instead grabbing his things and going straight to his car.  He’s exhausted, probably from the lack of sleep and prolonged frustration, but he forces himself to brave the frigid weather and setting sun once he arrives home and goes for a three mile run.  Cold and tired is better than horny, Bucky figures, and by the time he’s gone for a run, showered, eaten a small dinner and cleaned up a bit, Jess is knocking on his door.

It’s difficult to resist the urge to check his phone, but Bucky keeps it zipped inside his gym bag. He asks Jess if they can walk down to the small coffee shop at the end of his street for some tea.  He offers to buy Jess a blueberry muffin, her favorite treat from the shop, and is relieved when she acquiesces.  Her suspicious gaze never falter, however.  Bucky ducks her glances and leave his phone behind, some form of relief falling over him when he locks his door behind him.  The walk is chilly but they make good time and Bucky orders two green teas and a blueberry muffin from a bored barista.

“You did _WHAT?!_ ”

Bucky grows warm, ducking forward to grab Jess’s wrist, shushing her desperately as he glances around the scantly crowded coffee shop.  Jess wrenches her arm free, crossing it over her chest and settling Bucky with a wide-eyed, disbelieving look.

“I’ve done it before,” Bucky mutters, staring at the cup of tea in his right hand, seriously regretting having this conversation in public. 

“ _You’ve fucked a guy before?_ ” Jess hisses loudly.  “Who?  When?  Why didn’t I know about this?”

“A guy in my squad on deployment,” Bucky practically whispers, face burning.  “And I don’t know, it’s never come up before.”

“And who the hell is Clint?  What happened with Natasha?” Jess follows almost immediately, a whole roster of questions lining up behind her eyes.

“Jess, you are so fucking loud,” Bucky grumbles, still not looking up at her.

Jess scoffs, leaning forward to flick Bucky in the arm.

“Spill, asshole.”

“Clint is Nat’s…boyfriend…submissive…roommate…” Bucky shrugs and glances cautiously up at Jess.

“What?!”  Jess flails her arms, face pinched.  “She has a boyfriend and you decided to fuck him?  Are you a swinger as well?”

“They’re all poly,” Bucky tries to explain weakly.  “Everyone in that house fucks everybody else.  I just…joined in.” 

“Where do you find these people, Buck?”

“Can we not talk about this here?” Bucky pleads, again glancing around the dining room to find several eyes on him.

“You’re the one who rushed us out of the house,” Jess retorts.  “Are you trying to avoid talking about this?”

“No, I’m trying to avoid getting kicked out of here.”

“Why are you deflecting the question, Bucky?”

“Can you stop it with the therapist shit?” Bucky snaps.  “I’m not deflecting!  I’m just…I don’t know.”  He shrugs, dropping his head.  “It all feels like a dream, like it isn’t real.  I keep thinking eventually I’m gonna wake up in my normal, boring ass life.”

“Well as the key feature of your boring ass life, this is fucking flooring me,” Jess says.  “If I hadn’t seen Natasha in the flesh, I’d be certain you were pulling my fucking chain…that or you’ve gone insane.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Bucky grumbles.

Jess huffs, dropping her head into her hands, elbows against the low coffee table between them.  She rubs her temples for a moment before glancing up at Bucky.

“Okay, so, you fucked this Clint guy.”  Her lips twist in something stuck between a grimace and grin as she straightens once more.  “Okay, sure…and he’s the sex slave of Natasha.  Alright.”  She shrugs.  “Fine.  What else?”

Bucky drops his gaze to his hands once more, face burning so hot he’s practically sweating.  _Fuck_ , he’s thinking about the cock cage again.  He might even be about to _talk_ about it.  Why the fuck does _that_ make him horny?  He clear his throat, unable to fight the smirk crossing his face.

“She’s making me wear a-a cock cage,” he whispers.

The non-pulsed composure that Jess was maintaining cracks once more as her eyes bulge out of her skull. 

“Right now?” Jess gasps, voice just as quiet.

Bucky nods.

“No you are not!” Jess hisses, glancing overtly at Bucky’s crotch.  Immediately, Bucky crosses his legs.  He tries not to think about the blood flowing to his groin.

“Why?” Jess asks.

Bucky shrugs, face burning with a little bit of shame but mostly arousal. 

“Because it makes me super fucking horny,” Bucky answers, voice still a whisper.

“Isn’t that a bit of an oxymoron?”

“And because…because I _really_ like giving her control,” Bucky says, leaning towards Jess.  “Like a lot.”

Jess looks Bucky up and down for a moment, lips tight, fighting a smile.

“God, you really are a fucking sub, aren’t you?” Jess surmises.

Bucky laughs.  Because he really fucking is.

It feels good, to talk to Jess, better than he thought it would.  Bucky finally agrees that they should just take this conversation home, and they walk back to his house, their to-go cups in hand.  Bucky talks as they make their way back and as they move inside.  He keeps talking as they sit in the living room.  Jess always has more questions and they more they talk, the more she comes up with.  Bucky tells her about the night before, about the flashback and the panic attack, about Clint coming by and sleeping in his bed.  He talks about Natasha wanting to put him through slave training and about the night in the Red Room.  When he talks about Natasha’s business trip and her dirty pictures, Jess demands to see his phone.

“Yes!” Bucky cries, an idea hitting him as he grabs Jess’s arm.  “It’s in my bag.  Go get it, tell me what it says.  If there are more pictures, I don’t want to see them.”

Jess gives Bucky a look of disbelief and bemusement before doing as he asks.  She fetches his phone, brings it to the couch and asks for his password.

“You’ve got…an email from Josh about scheduling…four text messages.”  She pauses as she probably opens the messaging app.  Bucky waits patiently, trying to think of anything but what those messages might contain.  “One from me when I was heading over—I know that…One from Clint…’how’d it help?’”  Jess glances up at Bucky, no doubt waiting for an explanation or a response.  Bucky doesn’t give one, shaking his head instead, so Jess continues.  “The other two are from—you seriously have her in here as Black Widow?  That’s weird, dude.”

“What’s the message?” Bucky presses while Jess navigates his phone.

“ _Holy fuck!_ ” Jess cries, straightening as she gapes at Bucky’s phone.  Bucky digs his nails into his palm, but it’s too late.  Jess’s reaction to the phone already has Bucky’s throat thickening.  “Jesus, dude.  No wonder you want to be her fucking slave.”

“It’s a picture?” Bucky guesses.

Jess is clearly scrolling through the message log now, eyes going somehow even wider as she finds the other pictures. 

“That’s a little bit evil, isn’t it?” Jess says.  “Sending this shit when you’re wearing… _that_.”

“She’s a sadist, Jess,” Bucky half-groans, hands dry washing his face and dragging through his hair.   

“Right,” Jess nods.  “Want me to describe it to you?”

“ _No_ ,” Bucky snaps.  He inches away from Jess on the couch, his desire to look at the picture nearly over-whelming him.  “There’s a message with it?”

Jess settles Bucky with an indiscernible look, turning off the screen and putting the phone in her lap.

“She’s…unhappy at the one sided conversation and wants…a picture in return.”

“Damn it,” Bucky mutters.

“Please don’t ask me to take a naked picture of you,” Jess states, tossing Bucky’s phone at him.  Bucky grabs at it like a live-grenade and throws it back at her. 

“Ew,” Bucky says.  “God no, Jess.”

“Okay good.  Boundaries are good.  Dicks revolt me and I like you too much to see yours.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong.  Objectively, you’re very attractive,” Jess continues in good humor.  “If I were a straight girl, I’d probably happily drown myself with your cock.  But I’m not so just the thought of it…” Jess shivers, full body, theatrically to demonstrate her revulsion.  “I’ll look at your hot ass dominatrix’s nudes all night, that’s a good job for me.”

“Yeah I bet,” Bucky grumbles.  He ponders for a moment as Jess makes another joke about the pictures.  Before she has a chance to finish, he leans forward and grabs the phone from Jess’s lap.

“Hey!” Jess cries.  “You literally just said that you don’t want that!”

“Turn on a movie or something,” Bucky says, pocketing his phone before he can look at it.  “There’s beer in the fridge.”

“Where are you going?” Jess cries.

Bucky smirks, turning to head towards his stairs.

“To take a picture, duh.”

Bucky ignores the dramatic groans of disapproval from Jess as he darts upstairs.  He heads to his bedroom, stripping off his clothes.  He isn’t sure what’s driving him.  Actually, Bucky feels quite odd.  Light on his feet, head in the clouds.  His thoughts are short and easy, never dwelling long.  And Bucky is usually a man who _dwells_.  It’s a nice reprieve, so he follows the sensation, feeling almost like a gleeful child.

Crawling onto his bed completely nude, Bucky gets onto his hands and knees, setting up his phone awkwardly against the pillows.  Biting his lip and lowering onto his elbows, Bucky opens up the photo message from Nat.

Jess had been right to ogle because Nat looks _gorgeous_.  She sits in a brown armchair inside of a hotel room.  The shades on the nearby window are open and a city landscape twinkles in the night beyond.  Black Widow wears nothing but a white hotel robe, loose and open around her body.  She looks out the window at the night, biting her lip as her hand presses between her legs, fingers opening her glistening pussy.  The image nearly cause physical pain with the desire it sends lancing through Bucky.  Instantly, he gets hard, dick pressing desperately against the cage.  His eyes pour over the image, over the expanses of her smooth, pale skin, all of the lines and planes and hard edges.  It’s the kind of image Bucky might have seen in an expensive porn magazine in his youth, the kind his father often bought and hid in his closet.  It’s the kind of image that Bucky would have never imagined receiving _from_ the subject.  Dropping his weight against his shoulders, Bucky reaches back between his legs for his desperate cock.

Downstairs, Bucky hears the TV turn on, volume _loud_.  He reaches for his phone, typing out a message.

 _Video call?_   It’s all Bucky can manage from the prone position he is in on the bed.  He drops the phone back against the pillows, closing his eyes as he continues to press against the plastic in an attempt to stroke his cock.  Breathing out, he gives up on his cock and reaches further back.  With thoughts of Black Widow in his mind, he presses his fingers against his hole.

Bucky imagines Black Widow in her hotel room, staring out at the city, unashamedly masturbating to the thought of, all things, _Bucky_.  Setting up her phone and taking that picture with Bucky in mind, with the thought of teasing him getting her wet.  He presses his finger inside of himself with the image of Black Widow rubbing her clit and throwing her head back against the armchair.

The chirping of his phone breaks him from his fantasy.  He blinks open his eyes and looks up to find an incoming video call request from Black Widow.

Heart pounding, Bucky accepts.  A moment later, a blurry outline appears on the screen.  The outline settles into Natasha’s face and upper body.  She wears the robe from the photo, now tied shut.  There’s the headboard of a hotel bed behind her, and pillows around her waist.  Her green eyes search the screen for a moment, no doubt seeing Bucky.  He glances at the view of the front facing camera, at the image of himself against the bed, face flushed, body naked and arching as he presses a finger into his ass.  Immediately, he notices Black Widow’s pupils widen.  She bites her lip, grinning wide and happy.

“Well hello, darling,” she purrs, shifting where she sits.

Bucky smiles a dopey smile.

“Hello, ma’am,” he mutters, vaguely remembering that he should be quiet.  “I can’t talk long…Jess’s downstairs.”

“That’s alright,” Nat replies, eyes searching the screen.  “ _Look at you_.”  Her voice drips with desire and Bucky presses himself back against his finger, going deeper and finding some amount of relief.  “That cage has you frustrated, doesn’t it?”

Bucky nods against the sheets, staring into Nat’s green eyes on the screen, wishing desperately that she was here, imagining that she is.

“Oh, _poor baby_ ,” she coos.  “How often do you usually come in a week?” she asks.

“Every day, Headmistress,” Bucky answers, realizing that it’s true.  Every day or just about.  Sometimes twice a day even.

“So this is just awful for you, isn’t it?”

Bucky nods again, letting Black Widow’s warm voice run over his body like honey.  He presses another finger inside of himself, gasping at how good it feels, pretending that his fingers belong to Black Widow.

“Do you think you could come like that, Bucky?” Black Widow asks.  “Just fingering your hungry little hole.”

“I wish it were you,” Bucky gasps, pressing himself hard against the sheets as his fingers brush against his prostate.

“I know you do, darling,” Black Widow replies.  “Now answer my question.  Can you come like that?”

Bucky thinks about it.  It feels good, pressing his fingers against his prostate.  But his cock still strains desperately against the cock cage, unable to get fully hard and aching because of it.

“Maybe,” Bucky answers airily.  “But not with the cage.”

“ _Mmmm_ ,” Black Widow purrs.  “Then we have something to aim for, don’t we?”

Bucky cranes his neck to looks up at his phone in hazy surprise.  The implications of the statement wash over Bucky and it sends a furious shiver down his spine.  He cries out, pressing hard against his prostate again.  He wishes that was happening now.  That he was with Black Widow, her hands on his skin, her strap-on cock in his ass, coaxing him to cum against the hard plastic of the cage.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky gasps, adding a third finger.

“How frustrated are you, Bucky?” she asks, voice low and hungry.  She demands a sacrifice, Bucky can see it in her eyes and, again, it makes him shiver.  Bucky stares hard at the camera on his phone.

“ _So_ frustrated, Headmistress.”

“ _Hmmm_ ,” she moans.  “I don’t know.”  She cocks her head.  “I think you need to suffer some more, don’t you?  I don’t think you aren’t _quite_ frustrated enough.”

Bucky almost doesn’t hear her.  He’s found a spot that makes his whole body feel like it’s about to come apart.  He wants to scream with his desire to cum.  His metal fist balls up in the sheets.

“Look at me, Bucky,” Black Widow demands.

Bucky opens eyes he hadn’t realized were closed.  Black Widow looks him over hungrily.

“I asked you a question, Bucky.  I asked if you deserve to suffer some more for me.”

Bucky swallows hard.

“Yes, Headmistress.  I deserve whatever you want.”

“No,” she says harshly.  “Bucky, I gave you one single rule before I left and you broke it, didn’t you?”

Bucky takes a sharp breath, mind moving slow.

“Y-yes, Headmistress…” he thinks another moment longer.  “You-you told me to call if I had…problems and I didn’t.”

“Right,” Black Widow says, nodding.  “Stop touching yourself, Bucky.”

Reluctantly, Bucky pulls his hand away from himself and brings it even with his metal fist in front of him.  His body begs for release, fighting against his mind and against the cage. 

“I love seeing you so frustrated and pent up, darling,” Black Widow comments after a moment.  “So as your punishment for breaking my rule, you’re going to suffer some more.  Your friend is downstairs?”

Bucky nods, confused and a little afraid for where this might go.

“Put on your clothes, go downstairs, drink a beer or whatever.  Get your friend out by 11.”

“What for?” Bucky asks, mouth suddenly dry.

“It’s not nearly as much fun if you know what’s coming,” she replies with a glint in her eye.  “Go, now.”

Bucky swallows again.

“N-now?” Bucky asks, sounding far more dejected than he had planned.  Black Widow chuckles.

“We’ll be seeing each other again tonight, dear.  _Go._ ”

Bucky does as he’s told.  He hangs up the call and he puts on his clothes.  He splashes cold water on his face until he feels his pulse finally slow and his cock finally soften.  He’s getting better at calming himself down, he realizes.  Singing the Clean Up Song in his head, Bucky makes his way back downstairs, nonchalantly grabbing a beer from the fridge on his way.

“Took you long enough,” Jess grumbles when Bucky sits down next to her.  As is expected, she’s watching some horror movie.  Currently, a twenty-eight year old pretending to be a sixteen year old is running through the dark sound stage decorated to look like a forest at night.

“Sorry,” Bucky mutters, concentrating on the film to further distract himself.  A man in an ill-fitting monster-suit ambles after the woman.  “What the hell are you watching?”

“Something about a troll?  Or a goblin?  I think it has something to do with the Nazis, it’s terrible but I sorta love it.”

They watch the campy movie for a while, drinking beer and commenting on the horrid quality of the movie.  The bad actors, the cheesy dialogue, the horrible set design, and Jess biting commentary keep Bucky distracted well-enough.  But the movie certainly lags in parts, and in those moments, Bucky feels his palms growing sweaty with anticipation.  What could Black Widow have planned? 

The movie is surprisingly short, barely hitting 90 minutes with the credits.  It’s quarter to eleven when Jess gets to her feet, stretching, and tells Bucky she’s heading out.

“I’ll leave you to your phone sex,” Jess says, rolling her eyes as she reaches for her coat.

“What?” Bucky answers, pretending to be shocked but Jess isn’t buying it.

“Yeah, I know that you weren’t up there for twenty minutes _taking a picture_ , Buck.”

“It was not twenty minutes!” Bucky defends, getting to his feet.

“Twenty is generous, it was probably closer to thirty,” Jess teases.  “I mean, by the time you got down here, the troll had already killed the jock behind the barn while making out with his girlfriend.”

Bucky concedes, blushing hard.

“Sorry, Jess,” he says, ducking his gaze.  “Does that make me a shitty friend?”

“What?  Being over-excited about your hot-as-hell, kinky-as-fuck new girlfriend?” Jess jokes, making her way to the kitchen.  “Maybe.  But I don’t give a shit.”  She pauses, turning to look at Bucky.  “I’m happy for you,” she says sincerely, looking Bucky in the eye.  “I don’t think I’ve _ever_ seen you smile like that.”

Bucky instantly pinches his lips, not realizing he had been grinning like a fool.  Subconsciously, he rubs his mouth and chin with his flesh hand.

“I’ve known you for a year and a half, man, and in all that time you’ve never exactly been…happy,” Jess continues carefully.  “It’s…nice to see.”

Bucky can’t fight the grin anymore, it breaks across his face again.  Without thinking, he closes the space between them and grabs Jess is a tight hug.

“I love you, Jess,” Bucky says against her shoulder.  “You’re a good friend.”

Jess squeezes Bucky back.

“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” she jokes before pulling back slightly, arms still on Bucky’s shoulders.  “Seriously, you’re a hugger now?  _What_ has this woman done to you?”

Bucky smiles and blushes again.

“I love you too, buddy,” Jess says earnestly before stepping back entirely.  Bucky walks her to her car and they say their farewells.  As Jess drives off, Bucky nearly forgets about Black Widow’s secret plan entirely.  But in the silence that follows Jess’s departure, the thought returns, making Bucky’s knees weak.

As Bucky walks back into his house, he realizes that, though he’s certainly nervous, it feels alright.  A month ago, Bucky would be frantically trying to imagine what might be coming next, begging Nat to tell him.  But not now.  The nerves he feel are more excitement than fear.  He cleans up his living room quickly, throwing away the empty beer bottles on his coffee table and the empty bag of chips Jess had torn through.  He sits down and puts something on the television, letting his imagination run wild.

At 11:05, there’s a knock on Bucky’s door.  He answers it to find Clint, with a knit hat pulled over his ears and a bag slung over his shoulder.  He cracks a grin at Bucky.

“Long time no see,” Clint smiles, stepping in towards Bucky, fingers curling in his shirt.  Bucky goes with it, kissing Clint back when he closes the space between them.  Clint grins like a fool with a secret as he pulls back and brushes past Bucky into the house.

“What’s in the bag?” Bucky asks, closing the door and following Clint inside.

Clint shoots Bucky a devious glance but shakes his head.

“It’s a surprise” Clint replies, a glint in his eye that says he knows what’s coming.  Bucky doesn’t fight it, enjoying the anticipation building in his core.  Clint doesn’t pause in Bucky’s kitchen, instead turning immediately for the stairs, taking them two at a time. 

In Bucky’s room. Clint tosses his bag onto the bed, turning to give Bucky an indiscernible look.  Before Bucky can ask what’s coming, Clint is pulling a laptop from his bag, opening it and setting it on Bucky’s bedside table.  He kneels down on the floor in front of the table and a minute later, the ring tone of a video call whines from the screen.  When it picks up, Black Widow appears on screen, green eyes shining in a predatory way that comes through the screen.  She still wears the hotel robe, loose and open around her shoulders.  She leans over a desk that presumably holds her phone, the white cotton falling away to reveal her perfect breasts.  Bucky moves closer to the screen, putting a hand on Clint’s shoulder.

“Good evening, Headmistress,” Clint says reverently.  “I’m at Bucky’s place now.”  His eyes flick to the bag that sits on the bed.

“Excellent,” Black Widow praises, her gaze lingering on Clint only a moment before moving to Bucky.  Even with a screen and presumably thousands miles between them, Bucky still shivers when she looks at him in that way: the way that says she has something torturous planned for him.  “Bucky, did you know that Clint _can_ cum while in chastity?” 

“Really?” Bucky replies, swallowing hard.  He can see on the front-facing view that Clint is nodding shamelessly.

Black Widow sits down at the desk, leaning even closer to the camera.

“Wasn’t Clint so good to you last night?” Black Widow continues.  “Don’t you think he deserves a thank you?”

“Yes, Headmistress,” Bucky answers sincerely.

“As an added bonus, I’ll get to watch you _suffer_ ,” Black Widow purrs, slender hand coming up to caress her chest.  “You’re so pretty when you suffer for me.”

Bucky feels himself growing warm, almost impossibly so.  Clint moves the laptop so that the webcam is facing the bed before he turns and crawls onto the mattress himself.  His pale blue eyes are full of mirth and anticipation as he turns and beckons Bucky towards him.  Bucky goes without protest and Clint hauls him into a deep and hungry kiss.  Mouth searching, he turns Bucky onto his back, straddling him and rolling his hips languidly.  It’s an intentional tease, pressure running over his trapped cock and making him groan with need.  Bucky concentrates on the kiss, trying to ignore his interested member.  When Clint pulls away, they’re both a bit breathless.  Clint stares down at Bucky, grinning madly, attention drawn by Black Widow’s voice a moment later.

“Show him what you brought, Clint,” she directs.

Clint doesn’t move from where he straddles Bucky, reaching for his bag and dragging it towards them.  There’s a moment of shuffling before Clint produces something black, strappy, and made of leather.  Bucky gives the item a short consideration, but he can’t identify it.

“What is it?” Bucky asks.

He doesn’t get an answer.  Instead, Black Widow tells him to take his clothes off.  Clint lifts himself off of Bucky, pulling his own shirt off.  Bucky yanks his sweatshirt off, but Black Widow interrupts with a huff.

“You can do it sexier than that.”

Clint glances at the laptop.  From where Bucky lays, he can’t see the screen, can’t see Black Widow’s face.  Before he can crane his neck, Clint’s hands are on his shoulders, pressing him into the bed as he pins him with a kiss.  Bucky lays still, letting Clint slowly pull his shirt up.  Bucky bends his back, trying to angle his body towards the laptop as Clint breaks the breathless kiss to remove Bucky’s shirt altogether.  Bucky watches as Clint stares at the camera and carefully drops Bucky’s shirt just off the bed with a cocked eyebrow.  Again, Bucky cranes to see Black Widow.  Just as he catches a glimpse of her, eyes wide and focused, Clint leans over Bucky and undoes the button on his jeans with his teeth.  The soft, warm puff of air on Bucky’s groin that follows snapping his attention back to the other man.  Clint stares up at him, hands pinned behind his back as he uses only his mouth to work off Bucky’s jeans down a bit.

Bucky’s breath comes heavy and labored.  His cock is _desperate_ , straining pathetically against its restraints.  Clint keeps staring into Bucky’s eyes as he parts his lips and begins to mouth at Bucky’s balls through his briefs.  Bucky spasms, letting out an absolutely wrecked sound.  He looks back at Black Widow, her body now slung across the desk chair, her robe open entirely as her fingers explore her labia.  Bucky groans, half in arousal, half in frustration.  He can’t lay here and let Clint work him over like this anymore, it’s going to drive him to insanity.

 Bucky extracts himself quickly from Clint’s ministrations.  Clint looks up, pouty, but Bucky doesn’t pause.  Clint kneels on the bed and Bucky brings himself along his side, using his metal hand to press Clint’s upper body towards the mattress.  Clint goes willingly, flattening his chest to the covers and arching his back in a way that makes Bucky’s mouth feel dry.  Bucky glance at the laptop, at Black Widow working her lip between her teeth as she stares at him.  Not breaking eye contact, Bucky takes hold of the waistband of Clint’s pants, feeling that he wears no underwear beneath, and pulls them down to Clint’s knees, revealing his ample ass.

Bucky readjusts, grabbing Clint’s ass cheeks with his hands and pulling them apart.  He stares down at Clint’s quivering hole for just a moment before looking up again at Black Widow and leaning down.  Tongue dripping, Bucky runs it along Clint’s hole, staring hard at Black Widow as Clint jumps and gasps in his hands.

“Put it on him, Clint,” Black Widow says, voice a low growl.  Clint moves immediately, raising himself up, hooded eyes going to Bucky.

Bucky had almost forgotten about the leather item that Clint retrieves from the other end of the bed. 

“Keep getting naked,” Black Widow directs and Bucky does as he’s told, shimming out of his pants and briefs completely.  Clint’s there a moment later, warm hands pressing cool leather to Bucky’s waist.  Bucky has no idea what he’s being outfitted with, but when Clint reaches between his legs and yanks a set of straps through to fasten them at Bucky’s outer thigh, Bucky realizes what it might be.

“A…harness?” Bucky asks.  But then Clint is pulling back, going for the bag again.  Bucky glances down at what he’s wearing, his trapped cock and balls squeezed by the leather straps of the harness.  There’s an o-ring just above his cock.  Bucky furrows his brow, realization starting to break over him.

In Clint’s hand is a dildo with a flared base. Bucky feels like the breath his been knocked from him.  Eyes wide and frantic he looks back at Black Widow.  She leans towards the camera with a hungry, wicked grin.  Bucky shakes his head desperately.

“No,” he gasps.

“Yes,” she replies, eyes glinting.  Clint is securing the dildo into the o-ring and Bucky almost can’t watch.  What’s about the happen is entirely inconceivable to him.  He feels like he might be about to get sick…that or he’s going completely insane.  “You can’t fuck him with that pathetic, trapped little cock of yours.  So you’ll fuck him with _mine_.”

Shattered, defeated, Bucky stares down at the red silicone cock that stands rigid at his groin in what almost feels like mocking spite of his own cock that so desperately wants to be doing the same.  Bucky doesn’t like this.  It’s too much.  The teasing, it’s been endless, and now he feels like he might really be going crazy.  How can Black Widow expect him to do this?  He looks back up at her, brow furrowed, mouth open, trying to find something to say, anything that might convince her to not go through with this.

But he comes up with nothing, and Black Widow just laughs at the surely broken look on Bucky’s face.

“Position 3, Hawkeye,” is all that she says.

Clint again prostrates himself on the bed, hands reaching underneath him to wrap around his ankles.  His face is against Bucky’s sheets, eyes closed, lips parted as he pants.  It makes Bucky’s throat thicken to watch.  He shakes his head, trying to shake his very brain out of it.

“Be nice, Bucky,” Black Widow purrs.  Bucky can’t look at her.  He rubs his metal digits into his eye sockets, groaning.  “Use the lube.”

It’s an order, one Bucky wants to ignore.  But his hands are moving, searching the bag before he even realizes what he’s doing.  There’s a small bottle there and Bucky pulls it out, staring at it in his hand in a surreal moment that feels like a dream.

Then he’s lubing up the red silicone cock as Clint moans, needy and desperate, pawing at Bucky’s thigh.  With stuttered breath and an even more sporadic heartbeat, Bucky grips Clint’s hips, spreading his cheeks once more.  His mouth is dry, so incredibly dry.  Like this, with the heavy silicone cock between his legs and Clint writhing beneath him, he nearly forgets about his real, trapped cock.  Maybe the image is tricking his brain. 

“ _Fuck him_ ,” Black Widow directs, voice wrecked. 

Whatever trickery there may have been in the moment before, the second Bucky presses the tip of the silicone cock into Clint’s quivering hole, the illusion is shattered.  He misses that moment, when he had forgotten about his actual, useless cock.  Because Bucky absolutely _can’t_ feel the silicone cock, obviously, and that realization only makes his mind and body remember his desperate member.  The frustration nearly makes him explode.  He doesn’t even realize the low, guttural sound he emits as he presses the strap on deeper and deeper, a chorus with the much lighter, satisfied sound that Clint makes.  Bucky almost breaks out in tears when Clint presses himself back onto the red cock, because Bucky wants _so badly_ to be feeling that on his real cock.

“ _Please_ ,” Bucky gasps, looking at Black Widow.  He doesn’t know what he’s asking for, he can barely string two words together in his head.  But Black Widow surely knows better than he what he’s asking for.  And she shakes her head.  _Of course not_ , Bucky’s mind whispers to itself.

His hips move back, sliding the strap on out of Clint a bit and pressing it back in.  Trying to set a pace is difficult with his own needy, wanting cock demanding attention.  Bucky wishes _so badly_ that it was his actual cock.  He can practically feel it in his head.  Clint begs Bucky to go faster.  Bucky grits his teeth.  The false cock is hard to maneuver.  He can’t feel it so he doesn’t know how deep or how hard he’s actually going.  And any ability to discern that from context clues is gone as his mind turns to vapor from frustration.  The only thing he can think, the only thing he can feel is the _need_ in his groin and the pain of his cock pressing against the rigid plastic.

“Headmistress!” Another aborted attempt at a statement.  This time, Black Widow only laughs mirthlessly. 

In his head, Bucky is begging, pleading, sobbing.  In reality, his mouth hangs open as he drives the red strap on harder and deeper into Clint.  Clint is speaking, but Bucky can barely comprehend it.  He thinks he might be talking to Black Widow.  Bucky stares down at the strap on disappearing again and again into Clint’s warm, willing body, and he wants so _so_ desperately to come even though he knows he can’t, he won’t. 

Bucky’s mind is breaking, it has to be true.  He can feel tears on his cheek.  Tears of frustration.  How can Black Widow do this to him?  He looks again at the laptop, at Black Widow’s perfectly manicured fingers disappearing inside her glistening pussy.  The image makes Bucky sob, broken.

The sound makes Black Widow sit up and lean towards the camera.  At first, Bucky thinks she might take pity on him.  But then he notices the excited, satisfied look on her face as she stares at him through the camera.  There it is.  The creature, something primal and animalistic that lives within Black Widow.  The hungry thing she keeps caged within her glossy exterior.  The entity which preys upon Bucky.  The divinity that Bucky will bow down to.

There are tears falling freely down Bucky’s cheeks now.  Time feels odd, protracted.  It passes too fast and too slow at the same time.  Clint continues to beg but Bucky can only stare at Black Widow.

“ _You poor thing_ ,” she says in a voice so low it’s difficult to understand.  There is no mercy in her words, only pure, sexual enjoyment. “You’re so frustrated, aren’t you?”

Bucky nods, unable to make his lips work properly.  Black Widow cocks her head, sharp eyes darting about the screen.

“That’s because you’re _selfish_ ,” she continues, leaning ever closer.  “The only thing you can think about is your own _pathetic cock_.  Isn’t that right?”

“Y-yes, Headm-mistress,” Bucky sobs.  “I want to cum s-so _badly_.”

“I know you do!” Black Widow hisses.  “I know that’s what you _want_.  But it’s not what you _need_.  Do you know what you need, Bucky?”

Bucky shakes his head again.

“You _need_ to surrender, completely.  You will not be cumming tonight, your cock will stay trapped.  You can cry all you want, but that won’t change.  This isn’t about _you_ or your cock.  Look at Clint.”

Bucky does as he’s told, looking down at the man beneath him, fucking himself on the strap on.

“Wasn’t he so good to you last night?” Black Widow continues.  “He came here, he helped you out of a panic attack and he stayed with you all night.”  The words bring some sort of awareness back to Bucky’s mind.  He nods, she’s right.  “Don’t you want to show him how much you appreciate that?”

Black Widow’s words have a hypnotic effect on Bucky.  Is she trying to hypnotize him, or is she just right?

“Forget about your cock.  And show Clint how much you appreciate him.”

Hypnotism, it has to be.  Because the moment Black Widow tells him to forget about his cock, he does.  It slips from his mind, from his awareness.  She’s right.  She’s right.  She’s right.  Something takes ahold of Bucky’s body.  It feels like Bucky, looks like him, talks like him.  It’s the better version of him, the one that Bucky has kept in his mind through his entire life, the type of man he could fantasize about being.  A better Bucky wraps his arms around Clint, pulls out and flips the other man onto his back before crashing the strap on back into Clint’s arching body.  Clint cries out and slings an arm around better Bucky’s neck.  Actual Bucky sits back.  Maybe it’s okay, to give in, to release control to this better version of himself, to Black Widow, to Clint. 

Clint is good to him.  Nat is good to him too.  Better than anybody has ever been, save maybe Jess.  Bucky’s fought it for so long because the idea that he could deserve so many people being good to him seemed ludicrous.  But maybe Bucky does deserve it.  Maybe he can deserve it by being just as good back.  By giving selflessly, even in this moment, to Clint who writhes against Bucky’s body and who came here in the middle of the night to help him.  Bucky adjusts his angle, getting better at maneuvering the strap on, and he knows he’s got it right when Clint’s eyes fly open and he begins to make a high pitched, pleading sound.

Bucky can do this, he can give, he can forget about his own wants for a little while.  It’s freeing, actually.  He’d never even considered the idea of forgetting about his cock.  It’s never seemed possible before.  But right now…it’s almost like he’s floating on air.  The awareness that had been dedicated to his cock, monumental in size, now spreads through the rest of his body.  The sheets are soft, but not nearly as soft as Clint’s skin, which feels like butter.  Bucky just wants to touch it all over.  He pulls Clint in tight, going deeper than ever and relishing in the feeling of warm skin on skin.  It’s glorious and Bucky could get lost in the sensation.

“Are you going to cum, darling?” Black Widow asks, sounding far away.

“Yes,” Bucky whispers, breathing in the rustic, woodsy scent of Clint’s skin.

“P-please, Headm-mistress, can I-I cum?” Clint stutters, struggling to speak, his eyes shut and head hung back.  He grips Bucky just as tightly, no longer moving on his own but instead letting Bucky roll up into him. 

“Yes.”

Something warm spreads across Bucky’s abdomen at the spot where Clint’s own trapped cock is pressed against Bucky’s belly button.  Bucky doesn’t stop thrusting into Clint though.  He can’t, he doesn’t want to, he feels desperate.  He’s chasing something.  Something like an orgasm, but better.  Clint has gone limp entirely now, but he doesn’t fight against Bucky.  Bucky lets Clint’s dead weight fall against the pillows, following him down.  Clint’s mouth hangs open, his eyes cracked open.  He makes eye contact with Bucky and then turns his head to look at him properly.  Bucky doesn’t know what sort of expression is on his face, he thinks he must look crazed.  He feels crazed.  None of his thoughts follow logic.  Feeling, sensation is the only thing driving his brain.  Maybe Clint sees that, because he slings an arm around Bucky’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss.

“That’s right,” Clint whispers, nodding against Bucky’s cheek.  “You feel good, don’t you?”

Bucky tries to speak, but all that comes from his mouth is a low, groan.  Clint laughs into the warm space between them. 

“Don’t stop, baby,” Clint says in Bucky’s ear.  “Stay right here with me, with us.”

The world shrinks down to nothing, nothing but the incredible, electric space between Clint and Bucky and the sensation of Black Widow’s eyes upon them.  She makes not a sound but Bucky can feel her there, can never forget her.  Clint is fucking himself down onto Bucky again, and the sensation of his warm, damp skin sliding against Bucky’s own makes Bucky cry out in pleasure. 

“Make me cum again, baby,” Clint begs, voice shaky.  “You can do it.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky manages.

The moments that follow pass in an instant but also spread out for an eternity.  There is nothing and nobody on earth except this.  Nothing matters, nothing can ever be wrong or bad as long as there is _this_ , whatever this is.  Clint’s body, his skin, his scent, his very essence, it’s all so intoxicating that Bucky wants to be lost in it.  Clint kisses him again and tells him he’s going to cum.

Bucky finally looks up at the laptop and sees Black Widow’s face, perfectly still, simply staring aptly.  He looks down at Clint, meets his eyes.  Then Clint is cumming again.

Bucky’s body, a spring pulled tight, finally releases.  What is happening, Bucky has no idea.  He’s never felt like this before.  A rush of heat runs down his entire body, making his toes curl.  He loses all motor function, his every muscle releasing.  He falls face first into the pillows, Clint still gripping him.  Bucky doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t even move.  He just sinks down into the pillows as the sensation of perfect satisfaction settles against his body like a warm blanket.  He shivers.  His ears are ringing.  His vision whites out.  For a moment, he’s deaf and blind.  The only thing he can perceive is this.

Completion. 

Bucky gasps as sight, sound, and sensation return in a rush.  It’s not unpleasant though because his body still feels warm and satisfied.  He lets himself shimmy down deeper into the sheets, a dumb smile on his face.  Clint settles against him, a finger tracing his face.

“What was that?” Bucky whispers, already feeling sleep taking him.

Clint chuckles.  Bucky doesn’t open his eyes.  He’s so close to falling asleep, to drifting away entirely.  Already, Clint sounds far away.

“The reason why.”


End file.
